


The Emperor Makes a Match

by AriadneKurosaki



Series: IchiRuki Month 2020 [14]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, BAMF Arisawa Tatsuki, BAMF Kuchiki Rukia, F/M, IchiRuki Month, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneKurosaki/pseuds/AriadneKurosaki
Summary: Just shy of his twenty-first birthday, Ichigo becomes the new ruler of the Seireitei Empire. It comes with...complications. He wasn't ready to take the throne yet, for one thing. And he only has a year to find a bride. Oh, and someone is trying to kill him, and maybe his family.It's a good thing that Lady Rukia Kuchiki is a lot more than just a pretty face.
Relationships: Inoue Orihime/Ishida Uryuu, Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo, Kyouraku Shunsui/Ukitake Juushirou
Series: IchiRuki Month 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858906
Comments: 214
Kudos: 217





	1. A Long Walk in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Day 17, Coronation
> 
> I'm a glutton for punishment, so this is another multi-chapter fic for IchiRuki month featuring magic, matchmaking, and mayhem. The rating and tags are subject to change.

[](https://ibb.co/bvYjSXq)

Ichigo remembers the day of his parents’ coronation.

His grandfather, the thirteenth ruler of the Seireitei Empire, had ascended to the heavens at the relatively young age of seventy-five, and the entire empire had mourned for a year, as their customs dictated. While Ichigo’s father, Isshin Kurosaki, had been privately named Emperor immediately, it was not until the end of that year of mourning that Isshin and his wife, Masaki, had a _formal_ coronation.

Ichigo remembers the pomp of that day: how his father, dressed in robes of white silk lined in cloth of silver and gold, and wearing a heavy golden crown, joked about how it pressed his head down onto his neck. He remembers how his mother was so beautiful, with her sunset-colored hair wrapped in elaborate loops leading up to a tiara of ruby-encrusted gold. Her robes had been of white silk embroidered with flowers from every region of the Empire, to symbolize her loyalty and love for her land and its people.

Ichigo had been only eight at the time, but he remembers each detail of the ceremony so clearly. He remembers his father’s solemn vow to lead the Empire of Seireitei to greatness and be its spiritual guide. He remembers his mother’s vow of loyalty and fidelity to her husband the emperor. He remembers the fireworks exploding in the air, shaped like blooming flowers and roaring dragons.

Ichigo remembers all of this, for it happened only twelve years ago. And soon it will happen again. Only – he will be wearing the robes of silk and the heavy crown.

“It will not be very long now, your Royal Highness,” a low voice says in Ichigo’s left ear.

He turns his head, and Toshiro Hitsugaya, the Emperor’s advisor, is looking at him solemnly. “I know,” he says quietly. “The healers say that the Emperor has only a few more days.”

Sound rattles in his lungs as the Emperor struggles to breathe. He sleeps fitfully in a bed made warm with magic and has spoken little for the past week. The healers say it is a disease of the heart and lungs. The more fanciful women of the court say that the Emperor is going to the heavens to be with his wife, for they are soulmates and one cannot live without the other. They speak in admiring tones of the Emperor’s strength to hold on for ten long years without the late Empress Masaki.

“Prince Ichigo, we must speak of what will happen after the Emperor’s ascension,” Hitsugaya insists quietly.

“Isn’t that treason?” Ichigo asks, and there is a wry note in his voice, although the words come out rough and a little raw. “My father might recover.”

Hitsugaya looks at the Emperor. “You have never been a dissembler. Don’t start now.” What he means is, _we both know the healers are right and the emperor is beyond help._

A sigh leaves Ichigo’s mouth, and he stands in a rustle of black linen. “No,” he agrees. “But not here.”

The palace has dozens and dozens of rooms, each more elaborately decorated than the last. Sometimes Ichigo thinks that the practice of housing members of the court at the palace must have started so that there were people to live in such a monstrosity of a building. They find a small meeting room, one of the less opulent spaces. Hitsugaya waits until Ichigo has sat down to join him.

The young advisor pulls a sheaf of papers from within his robes and slides them across the table to Ichigo, who glances down at them and then back up at Hitsugaya with a questioning look. “These are the succession papers and the funeral arrangements for Emperor Isshin,” he explains. “He charged me with creating them when the healers told your father that he is dying.”

It isn’t the first time Ichigo has heard the words, but they still steal the breath from his lungs, and he stares at the paperwork blindly until Hitsugaya clears his throat. He takes a deep breath and begins to read.

The succession plan is straightforward: Ichigo will become the Emperor upon his father’s death, as he is – has always been – the Crown Prince and heir to the throne. His younger sisters are twins, but Karin will become the Crown Princess as she was born first. Then Ichigo reads further into the paperwork and looks up at Hitsugaya.

“Is this legal?” he demands with a scowl on his face.

“The Emperor consulted the finest legal minds in the country,” Hitsugaya assures. “The succession papers have been deemed legal and the spells surrounding them are binding.”

“But the country will be in _mourning_ for the next year,” Ichigo growls. He leaves out, _I will be mourning. My sisters are already devastated._

A flicker of sympathy shows on the other man’s face. “I know. But it is the Emperor’s decision.”

Ichigo sags back in his chair and lets his head fall into his hands. “The court will be up in arms,” he points out. “The entire _country_ will be up in arms, once the story spreads beyond the palace.”

At that, Hitsugaya snorts and waves a hand when Ichigo scowls at him fiercely. “The court will be busy maneuvering to find favor with you. And every man with an unmarried daughter and a courtesy title will be trying to get her in front of you. The daughters will be thrilled for the dispensation from wearing mourning silks.”

Ichigo sighs heavily. “This is going to be a mess. I don’t understand why my father is demanding I find a bride within the year. What happens if I don’t? The country will be in _crisis_ , Toshiro.”

Hitsugaya mumbles under his breath. It sounds like, “It’s Advisor Hitsugaya.” But all he says out loud is, “Then we will make sure that you find a bride.”

Ichigo scowls again and turns to the funeral plans: those at least look straightforward and elaborate enough for the ruler of an empire. “Have you and the other advisors started working on this?” he asks when he is finished reading.

“We cannot do so formally until your father’s death. But we will be ready.” Hitsugaya takes the papers back when Ichigo nudges them towards him and conceals them within his robes once more.

“I need a drink,” Ichigo sighs.

“You don’t drink, Prince Ichigo.”

“Maybe I should start.”

Emperor Isshin Kurosaki passes from the world two days later, one hand held tightly by each of his daughters. Ichigo kisses his father’s forehead in goodbye and whispers to him, asking him to tell his mother that her children love her. Three healers are called in to confirm that the Emperor is dead. Ichigo lets Yuzu and Karin cling to him as they sob, and he buries his face in Karin’s hair so that no one sees him cry.

Hands gently pull Yuzu and Karin from him; those same hands are careful not to touch him. Ichigo opens his eyes: Yuzu and Karin are being led away, still sobbing, by two of their ladies-in-waiting. The priest who performed the initial death rites for his father catches his eye, and Ichigo follows him. He knows that it’s time.

Seireitei has ritual to fall back on in times of grief. No more than an hour after his father’s death, Ichigo is doused in ice-cold water by the palace priest and his attendant. The water, he knows, has been purified and blessed – but it’s still freezing. Before he can so much as gasp, there are rough towels rubbing the water off. He dresses in silence, donning long, flowing black pants and a snug-fitting shirt of the same fabric with long sleeves and a square neckline. His attendant drapes a robe of black silk over his shoulders and helps him step into a pair of slender boots – also black. Even his socks are knitted black wool.

The only color that Ichigo wears is his hair. It is the color of an orange sunset, like his mother’s was, and falls well below his shoulders when unbound. An ordinary man would have his head shaved for mourning, but Ichigo is the Emperor now, and emperors do not shave their heads. He is tempted to rub ashes into his hair, the way the people of the northernmost city in the empire do, but emperors do not do that, either.

The attendant bows deeply and Ichigo follows the priest from his rooms. The hallway is dark; the lamps have all been put out. It will be like that everywhere in the palace, he knows; once the emperor died they would have been doused with a spell. There is only a small lantern held by a young acolyte. The acolyte leads the priest and Ichigo down darkened hallways until they reach the palace temple. The walk is silent and there is no sound save for the muffled thud of Ichigo’s boots on the ground. He sees no one; even the guards are gone.

In stark contrast to the opulence of the palace, the temple is a spartan but tranquil space. There is a gateway in the hall that leads to the temple proper. Ichigo bows slowly and then breathes easier as they step over the threshold; there has always been something calming about this space, but this morning he feels _embraced_ by the spiritual presence beyond the gate.

There is a basin to his right, and he dips the wooden ladle nearby into the water. Though he has just been cleansed, he pours the cold water on his hands and then into his mouth, rinsing and letting the water spill down into a drain on the floor. Then he steps forward and allows the acolyte and priest to lead him further inside.

Ichigo has been told what this ceremony entails. It is not a coronation; that will come a year from now when the country is no longer in mourning. He kneels when they reach the front of the room, facing an altar covered in white cloth. The acolyte holds the lantern high to illuminate the darkness and the priest prays silently over him. Fingertips brush his face, spreading sacred oil on his forehead.

“May the spirits watch over you. May they grant you the wisdom to do what is right as you lead our empire to ever higher achievement. May you be long-lived and bring continued stability to the empire. May you be comforted in your mourning by the knowledge that the Emperor Isshin Kurosaki has ascended to the heavens.” The priest’s voice is calm as he intones the words. There is incense in the air, something thick and heavily floral that makes Ichigo want to choke – or it might be the words doing that. He has known his entire life that this day would come, but he expected it to be when he was _older_ , not just shy of twenty-one and with his sisters still children.

He stands when the priest tells him to and walks to the border of the shrine. Between the smoke from the incense and the guttering lantern that is the only source of light, Ichigo can barely see. But he has made this journey hundreds of times in twenty years, and his feet know where to stop. He bows, once, twice, to the shrine, and prays. _Help me to make the right choices_. His hands find those of the small statue, a place only the emperor or empress may touch. He _pushes_ with his mind and power flows. The statue glows; faintly, at first, and then brilliantly, so that the priest and his acolyte must hide their eyes.

When the statue dims Ichigo strides from the temple, alone, with black fabric billowing behind him. As ritual dictates, the hallway is once again lit when he steps past the gateway. In the short time that he was inside, each doorway he passes has been draped in black fabric and a mourning symbol has been placed on it. There are guards stationed at intervals and they bow as he passes. Each man has tied a mourning band around his arm and hastily shorn his hair; Ichigo can see spots of blood where a razor was hastily or perhaps, clumsily, applied.

He reaches the offices of the emperor. _That’s you now,_ he reminds himself when he instinctively looks for his father. There is a throne room of course (actually, there are three), but this is where the actual _work_ gets done.

His father’s advisors, all eight of them, are waiting for him, with Hitsugaya at the head. Kyoraku is a step behind him and Ichigo’s heart twists in sympathy; his father’s closest advisor and _friend_ of many years looks grief-stricken, with his robes in disarray, and only Ukitake to hold him up. Ukitake looks unsteady on his feet. None of them have shaved their heads, but then – advisors don’t do that, either.

It occurs to Ichigo that these men are _his_ advisors now, and he catches up to the thought just in time as all eight bow to him. “Rise,” he says after a moment, and sits in his father’s chair (his chair).

Hitsugaya is the first to come forward. “Your Imperial Highness,” he begins. “Please accept our condolences on the death of your father.”

Ichigo nods briefly and fortunately, Hitsugaya takes that as a signal not to belabor the condolences; Ichigo is sure either he or Advisor Kyoraku will start crying again if he does. “Thank you.” His throat is tight and his voice choked.

“There are some urgent matters that require your attention, Sir,” Ukitake says quietly. An aide rushes up and places a pile of paperwork in front of Ichigo; a second aide bustles over with a pot of ink and a pen. It is one of the newest inventions, Ichigo has been told; it isn’t nearly as cumbersome as a quill or brush. A small lever draws ink up into the pen.

There are benches in his father’s ( _his_ ) office, and Ichigo gestures for the rest of his advisors to sit as he reads. The first page declares him the emperor; Ichigo signs that and an aide snatches it from his hand before the ink is fully dry. The second sheet announces Isshin’s death and declares that the country is in mourning; Ichigo signs that as well and the same aide grabs it from him and runs from the room like she’s being chased.

His facial expression must be telling, because Ukitake explains, “We are sending our fastest messengers with copies of both announcements throughout the empire.”

Ichigo just reads the next set of papers. These are the funeral plans that Hitsugaya showed him two days ago. “How is my late mother being incorporated into the funeral?” he asks, and if his voice cracks, well, his father has only been gone for two hours.

“A special blessing will be said when your father’s ashes are interred beside hers,” Hitsugaya explains. “And her portrait will be displayed beside his during the procession.”

Ichigo nods briefly and signs these papers, as well. The aide who takes them is a little less eager than the first was; this one at least waits until Ichigo has set the documents down. But he, too, runs like he is being pursued. With the funeral in just six days, Ichigo is not surprised.

The final set of papers are the succession plans, and Ichigo hides a groan. “Is there any way these can be changed?” he asks a little plaintively.

The men before him exchange looks and the most timid-looking of the lot – Hana-something, Ichigo thinks is his name – speaks up. “They are considered binding, Sir. The spells are very strong, as you know.”

Hitsugaya gives him a look that Ichigo interprets as, _I told you so_.

“I see. Then we will reconvene to discuss this following my father’s funeral,” Ichigo decides. He looks them over. “Are there any other pressing matters that need my attention?” There are a few headshakes and no one speaks up, so he stands and they scramble off the benches as well. “I need to see to my sisters.”

Ichigo sweeps from the office in his mourning robes and through the still-dim hallways to his sisters’ rooms. They have practically the entire east wing for themselves and their respective entourages, so he has a fairly long walk to get there. As he leaves the central portion of the palace and enters theirs, the guards begin to change. Closest to his sisters’ rooms the guards are women. Unlike some of the young noblemen he’s overheard, Ichigo doesn’t doubt their strength or skill; he has watched them practice.

In fact, he was beaten by one once, in a match when he was fifteen and a surly teenager. He doesn’t see her here although he knows he would recognize her with a single look.

Ichigo shakes off that thought and catches the eye of one of the guards once they have all finished bowing to him. “Where are my sisters?” he asks.

“They are in Princess Yuzu’s rooms, your Imperial Highness,” one says, and Ichigo nods his thanks. He knocks on that door, and when it opens to admit him he is swarmed, with first one sister and then the other clinging to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely cover art is by [Hesesols.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hesesols/pseuds/Hesesols) Thank you!


	2. The Black Fabric of Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of the Emperor's death reaches the Kuchiki Manor, and the wailing of mourning fills the streets for a funeral.

Before Ichigo has been the Emperor for more than three hours, messengers on horseback speed from the palace by the dozens and spread out to every corner of the empire. They carry with them copies of the papers that he has signed. The messengers stop in every district of the capital and then move beyond it, stopping in every city and every town, in every village. They find the manors of the nobility and bang on thousands of doors, spreading their grim news.

Like a blanket mourning black spreads throughout the country, following the messengers in a wave of black curtains hung over windows and bunting fabric over doorways. Men paint mourning symbols on front doors. Even the poorest of men and women find black fabric to wear or display; the heavy cotton that is the preferred fabric for funerals quickly becomes scarce in shops, and soon so does every other fabric in black or dark, somber colors. In the capital city, fiber crafters and ordinary tailors alike find their skills in high demand.

Six hours by horseback from the palace, a messenger stops at a well-manicured manor and hails the guard station by the tall, elegant wooden gates. A guard suspiciously opens the gates, but seeing the imperial insignia on the man’s uniform, hurries to allow him through. The messenger gratefully hands over the reins of his gelding to a stable boy.

“You’re far from home,” the guard comments as the messenger brushes the dust of travel from his pants and gratefully accepts a ladle of cold water.

“I have farther to go,” the messenger replies. “I have an urgent message for Lord Kuchiki.” He takes the covering from his head, revealing that his hair has been shorn off.

The guard’s eyebrows raise nearly into his hairline. “I’ll take you to him right away.” They enter the manor through the servant’s entrance and the guard stops a passing maid before hurrying to a brightly-lit room on the northern side of the manor.

“Lord Kuchiki,” the guard calls as he enters the room, the messenger not far behind.

Byakuya Kuchiki looks up from behind a canvas. His cerulean shirt and dark trousers are covered in a pristine white smock, and his silky black hair is tied out of the way. “I assume there must be an important reason for interrupting Lady Kuchiki and I,” he says, an undercurrent of irritation in his voice.

The guard bows and the messenger copies the action, although his movements betray fatigue and stiffness from so much time in the saddle.

“Lord Kuchiki, I bring important news from the palace. His Imperial Highness Isshin Kurosaki has ascended to the heavens, and his son, his Imperial Highness Ichigo Kurosaki, is now the Emperor,” the messenger announces. He holds out handwritten copies of the two declarations for Byakuya to take.

There is a clatter from behind the other easel in the room, and Byakuya glances towards it as he stands and accepts the thin sheets of paper. He reads them over carefully and nods to the messenger. “I see. Rukia,” he says.

A petite young woman in a pastel-hued day gown covered by a similar white smock stands up from her easel. Her ordinarily pale skin is practically ghost-white, and her violet-hued eyes are wide. “Yes, brother,” she answers quietly.

“We will journey to the capital city for the funeral. We will be in full mourning.”

“Yes, of course,” Rukia murmurs, and bows shallowly.

The head of the Kuchiki Clan nods once and returns his attention to the messenger, looking him over. “You have traveled a long distance. You will be provided with a meal and a bed for the night. I presume one of my men is caring for your horse.”

“Yes, Lord Kuchiki. I thank you for your hospitality.” The messenger bows in thanks and, recognizing that as a dismissal, the guard who accompanied him quickly chivvies him along to the servants’ quarters.

When they are gone, Rukia asks quietly, “May I be excused? I would like to pray for the Emperor’s soul and begin preparing for our departure.”

Byakuya doesn’t look at her as he answers, “Of course. Your piety is appropriate.”

Rukia waits just long enough for her brother to nod once more before walking to the manor’s shrine at a sedate pace. Once there, she cleanses her hands and mouth before bowing twice and offering silent prayers. She stays a long time in the silence of the shrine, allowing the cool air and the faint sense of a _kami_ to wash over her.

Finally, though, she returns to her rooms and sits down on her bed. Rukia stifles the sound of her crying with a handkerchief. _He is only twenty_ , she thinks. _And the princesses – first their mother, now their father._ The face of a young girl with black hair comes to mind and Rukia shakes it away. She is a Kuchiki, and so she composes herself after a few minutes and calls for a maid to help her dress in black clothes and pack.

They leave two days later in a covered carriage drawn by a pair of black horses. Rukia wears a plain black dress. It practically swamps her petite frame, for even though they are traveling she is wearing a petticoat beneath the dress to create a full skirt. Byakuya, sitting across from her in the carriage, wears black trousers and a robe that hides all but his head and hands from view.

The carriage ride is silent but takes forever: though they left the manor before dawn, there is significant traffic on the road to the capital city. Rukia alternates between reading and embroidering; at times she dozes, lulled to sleep by the swaying carriage. Byakuya either sleeps or meditates; she can’t quite tell. They arrive in the city after dark and Rukia allows the servants in the Kuchiki’s city house to take her belongings. The relatively modest house has two stories and a delicately curved roof that reminds Rukia of the palace.

It is apparent that her brother dispatched a messenger of his own after one from the palace arrived; the house is aired out and her bed has clean bedclothes. A maid works quickly to put away Rukia’s belongings; a second maid brings in a large basin and two pitchers of water for her to wash with. “I will want a hip bath early in the morning,” Rukia tells her. “And I will need to wash my hair before the funeral.”

The maids bow shallowly and leave so that she can wash up.

The funeral is held four days later, and Byakuya and Rukia both dress in their finest mourning clothing. He wears black silk robes embroidered with chrysanthemums, and she wears a jet-black dress embroidered with black calendulas. The neckline is high, and she wears no jewelry save for plain pins to keep her hair up in a tidy, severe style. One bang refuses to stay put, instead swooping between her eyes, and both Rukia and her maid give up on it when it slips from three different configurations of pins.

Like the other nobles, they station themselves outside of their house and await the funeral procession. Fortunately, it is an unseasonably cool day, although the clouds look threatening and Rukia hopes that it will not rain during the service.

The noise of the procession reaches Rukia’s ears before it arrives. There is the sound of horses’ hooves hitting the road. Then there are the wheels of the carriage they are pulling. The sound of boots comes next, and then the horse-drawn carriage is in sight. Four horses, soot-black and matched in size, pull an open carriage that has been covered in glossy black paint. A casket on top carries the emperor and is covered with a spray of white chrysanthemums. Leaning up against the casket, and a little difficult to see from Rukia’s angle, are portraits of the late emperor and his wife. They are the only spot of color on the carriage.

Behind the carriage walks the new emperor and his sisters. Rukia’s eyes fill and she blinks quickly to avoid letting a tear fall. Byakuya is stone-faced next to her and it would not do for a member of the Kuchiki clan to become undone. The other nobles around her are crying, some of them openly sobbing as the carriage passes by, and the sounds combine into a low wail of collective grief.

Ichigo is stoic, much like Rukia’s brother; his face is carefully blank of all expression. His robes are pitch black but elaborate, as befits the emperor: even from her vantagepoint Rukia can see the complicated embroidery that covers almost every inch of the thick silk. His hair is a flame by comparison, left to hang down past his shoulders. He wears no adornment on his head and does not look to either side of him as he walks.

His sisters walk a few steps behind him and Rukia’s heart twists to see them. Karin, now the Crown Princess, has an expression similar to her brother’s but her face is milk-pale. Princess Yuzu is visibly shaking. They are in identical gowns of embroidered silk with short trains that drag along the ground as they walk. The sound of wailing increases as the girls walk by. They are older now, with faces that are the pretty but not-quite-finished shape that teenagers have, and for just a second Rukia remembers when they were only eleven and spent time playing in the gardens while their older brother watched indulgently.

Guards follow the princesses. First are the elite women who guard them; their faces are streaked with ash and they each wear the close-cut ceremonial uniform of a dark tunic and a divided skirt. A contingent of royal guards are next, heads shaved and wearing black armbands.

The emperor’s advisors are last, eight men in identical robes. Kyouraku and Ukitake walk next to each other, and Rukia can see that one is practically supporting the other. It is technically a breach of protocol but then – she has heard the rumors that Ukitake is ill. Kyouraku looks devastated, and she wonders who is holding up whom.

Along the street, the nobles begin to fall in line behind the procession; at Byakuya’s silent indication Rukia does the same. She is glad that her shoes are sturdy, for they walk what seems like miles through the main thoroughfare of the city. It is a national day of mourning and as they leave the noble quarter behind, it is clear that thousands and thousands of people have come to bid Isshin Kurosaki farewell. They line the streets, an endless sea of dark fabric and tear-streaked faces. Some of the women are openly sobbing but beyond that there is little noise save for the march of footsteps.

Eventually they reach the central temple. There is a smaller building to one side, and the carriage continues there while the new emperor ascends the stairs and his sisters follow behind. There are guards to either side of them as they walk. Rukia can see a priest greeting Emperor Ichigo as he passes through the gateway. The nobles follow, and Rukia finds herself at the very back of the temple surrounded by people much taller than herself. She can barely see what is happening, but the sound of the funeral ceremony soon fills the temple.

There are pleas from a priest and several shrine maidens to take the Emperor into the heavens and reunite him with his beloved wife, the Empress Masaki. Blessings are said to comfort the empire in its time of grief, and Rukia murmurs the words in concert with the others around her. A special prayer asks the _kami_ to keep the empire safe even during such a dark time.

Silently, Rukia prays for the new Emperor and the princesses, whose grief is not mentioned.

Later, Ichigo and his sisters are the first to leave the temple. The nobles wait, mostly in silence, for a long time. Rukia’s feet are starting to hurt and the temple has grown overly warm from the press of bodies. She is grateful when they finally begin shuffling back outside. The casket is gone but a different carriage remains; as Rukia watches, the emperor and his sisters climb into the carriage and it rolls back towards the palace. She catches a glimpse of a golden urn, carried by Princess Yuzu, and bows her head.

The crowds begin to disperse as the carriage shrinks into the distance. Rukia and her brother trail back up the street with their neighbors.

They stay in the capital for over a month on Byakuya’s orders. She passes the time in reading and embroidery, for her painting supplies have been left at the estate in the country. Every week, she travels to the temple and makes offerings for Isshin Kurosaki’s soul. When Rukia dares to ask why they linger, Byakuya says only, “The clan may be needed by the Emperor.”

When a letter from the palace arrives a month and a half after the funeral, a servant finds Rukia in the tiny garden behind the Kuchiki townhome and summons her into Byakuya’s study. She bows to him and waits, hands at her sides, as her adoptive brother looks at her.

“The Emperor is looking for a bride,” he says calmly, “His advisors have invited the noble clans to present their daughters to him at the start of the month.”

Rukia’s eyes dart up to meet his but she says only, “I see.”

“You will represent the Kuchiki clan in this matter,” Byakuya continues. “I will summon a dressmaker, as you will be exempt from mourning dress.”

“Yes, brother,” she says quietly.

“Unless you object to doing so, of course. I will not require you to compete in this…somewhat _gauche_ endeavor.”

A high-pitched scream and a slither of blue magic fill Rukia’s mind followed by the flame-bright hair and sharp jawline of the Emperor.

“No,” she says. “I will be pleased to represent the clan, brother.”

The next two weeks go by quickly. The dressmaker comes to the Kuchiki townhome and Rukia finds herself perched on a wooden stool in her undergarments as the older woman measures every inch of her body with a worn measuring tape that occasionally slaps against her skin as it whisks around her body.

“Six noblewomen all wanting dresses in two weeks’ time,” the dressmaker complains to her assistant while she works. “This Emperor has no respect for the mourning traditions of our country, young upstart.”

Rukia bites her tongue and stares into the middle distance while she is poked and her arms and legs are shoved into or out of position for easier measuring. The assistant leaves the room and comes back with large swatches of silk, cotton, and linen in various colors. They are held up to her face and approved or rejected by the dressmaker before Rukia can comment.

“Exempting young girls from mourning just so he can see pretty young things at his beck and call,” the woman snorts. “Not like his grandfather, this one. And no wonder! His father, may he rest in heaven’s embrace, married a foreign girl, called her his _soulmate_.”

The words make Rukia see red, and her hand is wrapped around the dressmaker’s wrist before she can think better of it. “Do not insult the Emperor, or his late mother, in my hearing,” she says. Her hand is ice cold as she drops the other woman’s wrist.

The room is quiet after that.


	3. An Interminable Presentation of Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo is introduced to some of the many eligible women in the Seireitei Empire.
> 
> Lady Rukia Kuchiki is one of them.

It is a sunny day two months after the funeral when Ichigo sits in his office once more. He is pale and a little thinner; while some aspects of an empire roll onward with or without an emperor, others do not, and it has been a tiring pair of months.

“The women and their families will begin arriving tomorrow, your Imperial Highness,” Hanatarou announces. The young junior advisor, whom Ichigo has learned is a representative of the palace healers, has taken it upon himself to manage the “matchmaking process”, as he calls it. Ichigo has no idea why, but the past two months have been a blur and he doesn’t much care. The man seems to mean well, at least. Unlike the oldest of his advisors, Ryuuken Ishida, who just grumpily asked why they were wasting so much time and didn’t just marry Ichigo off to the first woman to walk through the door.

Ichigo finds _that_ idea so abhorrent that he agrees to Junior Advisor Yamada’s plan. Which is why the next morning he is in the receiving room of the palace watching an _interminably_ long procession of young women and their fathers. He is growing uncomfortable sitting on the throne but tries to maintain an impassive expression. He forgets most of the girls’ names and faces as soon as they leave his sight. It’s just a blur of elaborate hair and washed-out gowns. Though the women are not required to maintain full mourning, Ichigo supposes it is a mark of decorum that most are wearing dull versions of what would ordinarily be a rainbow of colors.

There are a few memorable faces. There is a voluptuous auburn-haired woman who giggles shyly and wears bright blue flowers in her hair. He sees Uryuu Ishida, his advisor’s oldest son, looking at her like he’s been poleaxed and thinks, _Oh. I can make sure that introduction happens_. There is a sober-faced woman whose clan, the Ise, is said to be cursed. There is a woman with unnaturally bright red hair who looks more interested in her “competitors” than in him.

Then one of Hanatarou’s aides announces, “The Lord Byakuya Kuchiki and his sister, Lady Rukia Kuchiki,” and the siblings step forward.

Ichigo straightens up on his throne and his eyes meet Rukia’s. His heart flips around in his chest and his lips part. She is older, yes, and her hair is much longer than it was when they fought years ago. It’s been elaborately styled for this meeting, all loops and artful strands save for a bang that curves across her forehead. But her eyes are the same: bright amethyst and framed by soot-black lashes and delicate eyebrows. This is the girl – woman now, obviously – who was training in the elite women’s guard. This is the woman who beat him in swordplay. And she was _definitely_ not using the name Kuchiki back then.

There is recognition in Rukia’s eyes as well, and her eyes glance up towards her brother meaningfully before meeting his again. Ichigo gets the message (he thinks) and stops himself from blurting out the words that want to shove past his lips. Instead he accepts Lord Kuchiki’s bow and greeting with a nod. When Rukia curtsies deeply in her heathered lavender gown trimmed in a purple that matches her eyes, Ichigo says only, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kuchiki. I look forward to getting to know you.”

Even that is far too obvious. It’s more than he’s said to any of the other women. Hanatarou is whispering to his aide, and the young woman is quickly taking notes on a large sheet of paper. Ichigo can’t actually see what the paper says but he’s sure Hanatarou will be in his office later to discuss it.

There are a few murmurs from the other assembled women, and Byakuya looks surprised, if the slight quirk of an eyebrow is anything to go by. Rukia’s eyes widen and a pretty blush stains her cheeks. But they move on, and Ichigo tries his best to look interested in the next fifteen women who are introduced to him.

A few are old enough to be his mother, which is a little dismaying. A few are younger than his sisters, which immediately pisses him off and makes Ichigo shoot a look at Hanatarou that clearly says, _Absolutely not._ One of those, a girl who can’t be more than twelve, is scared enough that she swoons upon seeing him and must be carried away by her father. His expression is etched so harshly upon his face that Ichigo worries a little for her safety.

Ichigo calls over Hanatarou when that happens and whispers, “Keep that one here and have her introduced to my sisters.” He says it casually, but Hanatarou is too observant by half and gives him a knowing nod. He dispatches another aide and even above the murmurs of the forty women and their fathers, uncles, and brothers, he can hear the aide offering a place to rest and refreshments and oh, Princess Yuzu would love to meet the young Lady Akari, she’s heard such lovely things about her embroidery skills. Ichigo has no idea if that’s true, but it seems to mollify the angry father somewhat.

Finally, the introductions are over; Ichigo leaves the throne in a sweep of black fabric as Hanatarou thanks everyone for their attendance. He is only a few minutes behind Ichigo and the emperor has only reviewed a single document by the time Hanatarou walks into Ichigo’s office and bows. His aide is right behind him and she bows as well. Ichigo gestures at them to rise and looks away, staring out the window at the late-afternoon sky.

“I think that was very successful, your Imperial Highness,” Hanatarou says cheerfully, and barely reacts when Ichigo scowls at him.

“Was it?”

At a quick hand motion from Hanatarou, the aide bustles forward and places her notes on Ichigo’s desk, then backs away. “Yes! Forty women attended from all of the great noble houses – and a few of the minor ones, of course. There will be another presentation tomorrow with another fifty.”

“Another _fifty?”_ Ichigo repeats incredulously. But he expected this, and just sighs. “Give me your summary, then.” He pulls the aide’s report closer to him and skims it.

“Well, there are a few candidates we should eliminate immediately, Sir. The woman from the Ise clan for one – there is said to be a curse on the clan that any man she marries will die young. Even if it isn’t true, we _certainly_ can’t have that idea in anyone’s head. And the women from the Yama and Fuwari clans as well – they are near the end of their childbearing years.”

Ichigo nods in agreement. “Eliminate anyone under the age of eighteen,” he adds. At Hanatarou’s look, he shudders. “I won’t marry a _child_. Make much of their talents, compensate them for their trouble to get here if their fathers whine. But I won’t consider it.” That remark earns wry smiles from both Hanatarou and his aide.

He looks down at the paper again and tries to remember the faces that go with the names. Fortunately, the aide’s writing is thorough, and he says so out loud, making the woman blush to the roots of her dark hair. “I don’t think this Lady Inoue is the right candidate either, but let her stay a while,” he says finally.

“Sir?”

Ichigo smirks. “What did you see when her aunt introduced her?” he asks.

The advisor tilts his head to one side in thought and after a moment, the smirk on his face echoes Ichigo’s. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Yes, your Highness. I’ll ensure that Uryuu is invited to tea tomorrow.” The aide mumbles something about getting one over on Advisor Ishida and Hanatarou sighs, but Ichigo _laughs_ for the first time in two months.

“There _is_ the matter of Lady Kuchiki,” the aide says hesitantly. Ichigo’s eyes focus on her so intently that she squeaks, but then she continues, “The Lady is said to be an adopted member of the clan, rather than a member by birth.”

“And?”

“Well…we don’t know her lineage from prior to her adoption,” the aide explains.

Ichigo just scowls at her. “Lady Kuchiki stays.”

“But Sir—”

“Now Yua,” Hanatarou reprimands gently. “The Kuchiki clan is one of the most powerful in the empire and Lady Kuchiki’s reputation is spotless.” Then he nods to Ichigo. “Tea will be at two tomorrow, Sir.”

“Advisor Yamada.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Bring me the records of the elite women’s guard from the last ten years,” Ichigo orders. At Hanatarou’s look, he fibs, “I am curious as to who is protecting my sisters.”

Ichigo regrets the fib when ten wooden boxes appear in his office an hour later – but he _is_ the one who requested them. Thankfully, like most of the empire’s operations the women’s guard runs with a certain level of precision, and it takes far less time than he expects to find the file for _No Last Name, Rukia_.

It’s a thin file and he gleans from it only a little more than he already knew: Rukia was first a trainee and then a member of the guard until shortly after her seventeenth birthday, when she voluntarily withdrew. The file has a commendation in it for bravery, and Ichigo remembers unwillingly the attempt on Karin’s life when she was twelve.

The file holds little else, and Ichigo returns it to the correct chest.

Tea the following afternoon is somewhat chaotic. There are more than twenty women in the room, all dressed in a rainbow of bright colors. It seems to Rukia that nearly all of them have thrown off even the appearance of recognizing the recency of Isshin Kurosaki’s passing. She is in pale blue silk, but her maid has sewn bands of dark gray around the hemline and cuffs of her gown at her instruction.

There are too few men: only the Emperor himself, the youngest two of his advisors, and a dark-haired young man whom Rukia doesn’t recognize. The last of these is clearly smitten with Rukia’s _roommate_ for this endeavor. The Lady Inoue is beautiful, Rukia would certainly agree, and though shy she is cheerful and seems like a sweet girl.

Gowns swish around slender legs and heels click-clack on the wooden floors. Some of the women are bolder than others, and Rukia has watched the Emperor fend off more than one overly eager maiden. He seems uninterested in most of them.

He is more comfortable with the youngest, who can’t even be called _women_ yet. Like an older brother the Emperor leads them to the tables full of cakes and other treats and lets them pick whatever they want. He serves them himself, which makes the _actual_ servants nervous, and carries little plates of sweets to empty tables with the girls following behind him like ducklings.

Rukia thinks that the princesses would approve. She suspects the parents will not be thrilled with how much sugar their children are eating.

Eventually everyone is sitting down, and Rukia has somehow ended up at the Emperor’s table. The tea in their cups is a pale amber and steaming hot. As he is the ruler of all the empire, Ichigo drinks first. He turns to say something to her, a smile on his face, but suddenly the color washes from his skin and whatever he was going to say turns into a choking noise. Sweat beads at his temples and Ichigo clutches his chest while Rukia screams for help.

Rukia lowers him to the ground as foam begins to spill from his mouth. His eyes are wide and frightened as he looks at her, and one hand reaches up to grab at her.

Rukia bolts awake, her heart pounding practically out of her chest and breaths panting harshly into the early-morning darkness of her assigned room in the palace. There is sweat dripping down her back, dampening her nightgown. “Just a dream,” she whispers, but her fingertips are tingling in a familiar way and she can’t shake off the feeling of dread.

A snore disrupts her train of thought and Rukia looks over at the other bed in the room. With so many women presenting themselves (or more accurately, being presented) as candidates for the Emperor’s bride, even a complex this large does not have enough room for everyone. In fact, Rukia had offered to stay in her brother’s home for the duration, but Byakuya himself had decided against it on the grounds that she was better off in the palace.

So, Rukia is the roommate of Lady Orihime Inoue. Other than the snoring, it isn’t so bad: Lady Inoue is cheerful and seems nice, although she also seems a bit shy. Rukia thinks about the unnamed man in her dream, the one who looked at the other woman with the beginnings of longing, and thinks, _I hope that part is true._

She rises to bathe and dress for the day; she is too awake to go back to sleep.


	4. Afternoon Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More women are presented to the Emperor, and afternoon tea takes place with all of the candidates.

The introductions of the second group of women are even more interminable than the forty he has already met. If the previous group represented the most powerful clans in the empire, this one represents the lesser clans, the men with courtesy titles, and the hangers-on. Ichigo is pretty sure that some in that last group have no more brains than the koi in the ponds outside.

There is another batch of children in the mix, Ichigo sees, much to his irritation. Two are twins and so _shy_ , so much like his little sisters, that he smiles gently and comes down from his throne. Hanatarou is shaking his head in mild horror, Ichigo can see from the corner of his eye, but he only kneels in front of the girls – _children. They can’t be more than nine,_ he thinks – and says quietly, “Don’t be scared. Do you want to know a secret?”

When the two nod, one burying her face in her sister’s shoulder, Ichigo grins and says, “This room is really too full of people for me, too.”

“Really?” one asks. She is clearly the braver of the two, and her arm is wrapped around her sister protectively.

Ichigo nods again. “Really. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. Everyone in here is just a person. Even me.”

“But you’re the Emperor.”

“I am. And that means I’m responsible for your safety. And I promise you both, you _are_ safe here.” Then he glances at Hanatarou. “But if you’d like to go somewhere quieter, my advisor can find you a spot where you can have tea and cakes.”

“But…our father says you might marry one of us.” Ichigo would be offended by the fear in her voice if she wasn’t a _literal child._

Ichigo’s eyes darken, and he scowls up at the children’s father before returning his attention to the girls. “Marriage,” he says kindly, “Is for adults, and you have a _lot_ of time before you’re an adult.”

“So you aren’t going to try and marry us?” That’s the shier of the two sisters, and Ichigo smiles again.

“No.”

“Okay. We like cakes.”

Ichigo stands, and gestures to Hanataro. “Advisor Yamada, would you have someone escort my friends to a quieter chamber? I have promised them tea and cakes.”

Hanataro quirks an eyebrow, but he gestures to another of his aides – this one is a dour-looking blond man – and soon the two girls are off to eat cake.

Ichigo turns to the rest of the room, which is watching him in silence. A few of the parents look pleased; a few look appalled. Lady Kuchiki is in the room and his eyes meet hers briefly before he focuses once more on the gathered crowd. “If anyone else introduces a _child_ to me as a marriage candidate, I will have them exiled to the northern borderlands. Without their daughter. Is that clear?”

A murmur of “Yes, your Imperial Highness” echoes through the chamber. Ichigo nods sharply and sits back down on the throne. There isn’t exactly an _exodus_ from the receiving room, but the gathering does seem to thin out a bit. His announcement cuts down on the amount of time Ichigo needs to spend trying to remember which name goes with which face.

Afternoon tea is chaotic. Emperor though he is, Ichigo feels lost amid a sea of brightly colored dresses. Only a few women are observing the not-quite-mourning decorum, and between his height and black silk robes Ichigo stands out. He finds himself looking for the petite woman with amethyst eyes and has to force himself to pay attention to any of the other women there.

Lady Inoue shyly tries to engage him, saying, “Your Imperial Highness, this is such a nice tea. And such a very pretty tea set! It reminds me of a flock of birds in the springtime.”

Ichigo glances down at the small plate in his hand; it is decorated with a stylized curling pattern that doesn’t look anything like birds to him. But he just says, “I am glad you are enjoying yourself, Lady Inoue.” Then he catches Uryuu looking at the woman again and says, “Please, allow me to introduce you to Lord Ishida.” He offers his arm and Lady Inoue takes it.

She looks deeply puzzled as he guides her to Uryuu and says, “Uryuu, this is Lady Orihime Inoue. Lady Inoue, Lord Uryuu Ishida. I hear that you both have a strong interest in fiber craft.”

Uryuu bows briefly to Ichigo and then to Lady Inoue. When he rises, he pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger and says, “I would be very interested in hearing about your experience with fiber craft, Lady Inoue.”

Lady Inoue looks struck dumb for a moment, but then she smiles up at Uryuu. “Ah! Yes, it’s a great passion of mine. My latest project is a tapestry for the capitol building.”

Ichigo beats a hasty retreat; he thinks Ishida is smart enough to take it from there. He looks for Lady Kuchiki again but is waylaid by a tall, auburn-haired woman even more voluptuous than Lady Inoue. He wracks his brain for her name, but she saves him from having to remember it.

“Lady Rangiku Matsumoto,” she re-introduces herself after a deep curtsy. “It’s such a _pleasure_ to meet you, your Imperial Highness.” She is giggling between the words and there is a flush on her cheeks; Ichigo wonders briefly if she has had something stronger than tea. He doesn’t quite manage to curve his lips up, and when she leans a little too close to him Ichigo neatly sidesteps her.

“Please, Lady Matsumoto, won’t you make yourself comfortable and have something to eat?” he offers in a slightly strained voice. He is saved when one of the little girls from earlier – he’s not sure where she’s come from – tugs on his robes.

“Your Imp’rial Highness, I was told there would be cake,” she says, and Ichigo scrambles for a name. _Lady Hina,_ his brain finally supplies.

“There is plenty of cake, Lady Hina,” he says. He takes her hand and leads her to the long table where platters of sweet cakes and savory bites have been put on display. She seems a little too short to reach, and Ichigo offers, “Would you like me to make up a plate for you?”

Lady Hina agrees, and Ichigo fills up a plate with mostly sweet cakes at her direction. He briefly wonders whether her parents would approve and then thinks, _They thought it was appropriate to throw their ten year old at me. Let them manage it when she gets cranky from all the sugar._ So, he hands her the plate and waves her off toward a table.

He can feel eyes on him as he does so, and he overhears more than one whisper that “the Emperor will make _such_ a good father!”

Rukia is looking through a tall window into the gardens when the Emperor finds her, and she turns when his low voice says, “Lady Kuchiki.”

“Your Imperial Highness,” she says in return. Then, “Is the empire bringing back its harem?” When Ichigo chokes on air and stares at her, she adds, “It’s just that there are so _many_ women here.”

“Junior Advisor Yamada is getting revenge for a prank I played on him when I was sixteen, I think,” Ichigo muses. “And _no._ I have no interest in harems.”

“Then why so many of us?” she asks. This close to him she can smell him: the scent of soap and a hint of cinnamon. She thinks it’s from one of the cakes he gave to Lady Hina. There is something underneath that, but Rukia can’t tell what it is. Still, he smells _good_ , and she can’t help the slight flush that comes to her cheeks at the thought.

“Yamada’s idea,” Ichigo says again. “He didn’t think so many would show.”

“What family doesn’t want a direct connection to the Emperor?” Rukia asks. Then: “And I’m told you’ve already sent several home. Do so few of us meet your expectations?” she teases.

That earns a scowl from Ichigo. “You were in the receiving room this morning,” he grumbles.

She looks up at him and their eyes meet; there is a line of irritation between his eyebrows and she has to stop herself from reaching up to soothe it away. “Yes,” Rukia agrees. “You threatened half the room with exile.”

Ichigo raises an eyebrow at her. “Was I too harsh?” he asks. “Perhaps I should have threatened to induct their daughters into the elite guard instead.”

Rukia’s eyes widen at that. “How –” Her heart starts to beat faster and there is a clench of fear low in her abdomen.

He must see some of that fear because his eyes soften. “I knew it was you as soon as you were announced,” Ichigo says quietly. “I could never forget your eyes.”

“ _Please_ ,” she says, and Rukia can hear the thread of panic in her own voice. “You mustn’t tell him.”

Ichigo reaches out and takes her hand in both of his – gently, like he thinks she might bolt. “You’re shaking,” he observes, confusion clear in his voice, and his thumb brushes over the back of her hand soothingly. “Being a member of the elite guard is an honorable thing. Wouldn’t Lord Kuchiki be proud?”

Rukia just shakes her head quickly. “ _Please_ ,” she whispers. Her free hand clutches a handful of her dress but she doesn’t try to break free of him – he is the Emperor, after all.

“I won’t tell anyone your secrets, Lady Kuchiki,” Ichigo says quietly. His voice is low and reassuring in her ears, and some of her sudden panic eases. “Have tea with me. My other guests are starting to stare, and I don’t want Lady Inoue to think she has to come rescue you. She looks rather fierce.”

Rukia manages a laugh and allows Ichigo to tuck her arm in the crook of his elbow and lead her to a small table. A servant in black robes hurries to pull out chairs for them, and Ichigo seats her before taking the other. She can hear the murmurs and her cheeks flush; quite a few of the women know she is adopted and more than one sounds offended that she is being paid special attention by the Emperor.

Ichigo has clearly heard the murmurings, because his eyes go steely and he looks up at the source of the loudest voice with a glare. The voice stops and there is a squeak of fear before Ichigo returns his attention to Rukia. “Tea?” he asks as if he hasn’t just _warned off_ Rukia’s ‘competitors’ and practically put a sign on her back at the same time.

“Yes, please,” Rukia agrees. Ichigo signals and an elegantly painted pot of tea is brought to their table in short order, along with a small platter of cakes. Cups are set down last, and before she can do so Ichigo reaches for the pot to pour for them both.

The scent of the tea reaches Rukia’s nose, and the tingling in Rukia’s fingertips returns. It’s strong tea, possibly even over-brewed, but she can smell _something_. It’s sickly sweet and _wrong._

“Would you like some sweets as well?” Ichigo offers, but all Rukia can focus on is that _scent_ and the tingling in her fingertips.

Ichigo is raising the cup to his lips, as if he doesn’t find anything objectionable about it at all, and with a little cry Rukia rises from her chair and reaches across the table, knocking the cup from Ichigo’s hand and sending tea spilling _everywhere_ in an arc of hot liquid.

There is a collective gasp and guards are running toward them. Ichigo is just _looking_ at her. He doesn’t even look angry – just shocked. Tea is dripping from one hand. Rukia gets out, “The tea. There’s something wrong with it.”

Ichigo raises a hand – the one not dripping wet – and the guards come to a halt. “How do you know something is wrong with the tea, Lady Kuchiki?” he asks calmly. “It looks like tea.”

Her hands are shaking again, and she pushes her cup toward him. _Everyone_ is staring at them, and Yamada is pushing his way past the guards with a frightened look on his face. “It smells wrong,” she explains. “It’s been over-brewed but it smells sickly-sweet.”

Ichigo picks up the cup and sniffs at it. He offers it to Yamada next, who does the same and sets the cup down quickly.

“Night’s Slippers. Lady Kuchiki is right, your Imperial Highness,” Yamada says. “The tea has been poisoned.”

Though Yamada’s voice is low, someone shrieks at the announcement, and there is a _thump_ – one of the more delicate of Ichigo’s prospective brides has fainted.

Ichigo’s expression darkens and he looks up at his advisor, then at the guards. “Question the kitchen staff and have all of the tea in the palace checked.” He dries his hand on a napkin and stands.

Rukia scrambles to her feet, but it’s _Ichigo_ who bows. “Your Imperial Highness?” she asks a touch breathlessly.

He straightens up and his eyes meet hers. “You’ve saved my life, Lady Kuchiki. I owe you a debt.” He looks over the assembled women and then to Yamada, who clears his throat.

“The Emperor deeply regrets this disturbance, but tea must be cut short. Please return to your rooms in the palace,” Hanatarou announces.

The women begin to file out of the room. Some of them exchange frightened whispers while others seem more reluctant to go and need to be hurried along by a couple of the guards. Lady Inoue and Lord Ishida are two of the last in the room, and Ishida gives Ichigo a _look_ before he escorts Inoue out. Ichigo holds a hand up before Rukia can follow.

The palace guards split up; some leave for the kitchen while another gathers together all of the teapots in the room onto one table. When they are alone with just Advisor Yamada, Ichigo gives Rukia an appraising look. “Lady Kuchiki, will you accompany me to my office?” he asks, one hand out for hers.

“Of course, your Imperial Highness,” she murmurs. Rukia takes his hand and allows herself to be guided by him a second time. It is a long walk to his office, which she thinks must be halfway across the palace. She can feel that her fingers are still trembling, and he must feel it too – his hand once again tucks hers onto his forearm. He does _something_ , and a little wave of calm comes over her. Rukia looks up at him curiously but his eyes are looking straight ahead.

They pass room after room. Each door is draped with black fabric to signify mourning, but open doorways hint at opulence beyond even what Rukia sees in her home. This is a part of the palace she has never been to; her guest room and the princesses’ rooms are more modest. She feels out of place amidst the luxury _and_ amidst the mourning: the Emperor and his advisor are both wearing stark black and even with the bands of dark fabric on her dress Rukia sticks out like a bluebird amidst the crows.

They reach the Emperor’s office and he guides her to a seat on the bench nearest him, then sits across from her. Hanatarou stands awkwardly for a moment until Ichigo looks up and says, “Send for Lady Shihouin and General Zaraki. And have someone bring…” He grimaces. “Well, not tea. Something cold, perhaps. And test it first.”

“Yes, your Imperial Highness.” Hanatarou slips back out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

“I am serious, you know,” Ichigo says into the silence that the junior advisor leaves behind. Rukia looks up and raises an eyebrow in question. “I am in your debt, Lady Kuchiki.”

Rukia’s cheeks color. “I just have a keen nose, your Imperial Highness.” Then: “What did you do when you touched my hand, a minute ago?”

It’s _Ichigo’s_ turn to blush. “Ah. I am not sure what you mean, Lady Kuchiki.”

Her nose wrinkles and she says, “Just Rukia, please, at least here when we’re not…surrounded by courtiers and your prospective brides.” Ichigo makes a face at her, prompting a surprised laugh from her throat. “You touched my hand and I felt…very _calm_.”

“Oh.” Ichigo looks a little embarrassed, but explains, “I am familiar with the healing arts. You seemed so anxious that I wanted to soothe you.”

At that, Rukia startles. “The _healing_ arts? When we…” Her cheeks flush slightly. “That is, I thought your expertise was in battle magics, Sir.”

“Battle magics, the healing arts, and the materials arts,” Ichigo confirms, which makes Rukia’s eyes widen. “I’m particularly talented with wood and metal, although I can manage with fibers.”

“ _Three_ ,” Rukia whispers before she can stop herself. But there are footsteps coming towards them, loudly echoing in the halls outside, and she takes a breath. “Lady Shihouin may recognize me.”

Ichigo reaches over and lightly touches her under the chin so that she looks up and meets his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me why you left the guard. But if you feel unsafe with Lady Shihouin, I can have you escorted back to your room.”

Her cheeks must be flaming red, and it feels like there is heat coming from the touch of Ichigo’s fingertip on her chin. “I don’t feel _unsafe_ , your Imperial Highness. Though I think she might yell at me,” Rukia admits.

She’s not wrong. A servant slips into the room with cold juice a minute later, and Ichigo lets his hand fall away. Lady Yoruichi Shihouin and General Kenpachi Zaraki follow her, the latter barging in and letting the door slam shut behind him as the servant darts out, barely squeaking through.

Lady Shihouin’s dress would be scandalous if she wasn’t a member of the guard; the black skirt is barely knee-length and very full, but divided in the front and back so that it does not impede movement. Hose of the same color covers her slender legs. Her chest and torso are covered by tooled black leather armor shaped to fit her form, and her arms are covered in vambraces that match the armor.

She curtsies very properly to Ichigo. When she rises, however, she stares at Rukia. “You! You were the best guard in your year. Why the _hell_ did you up and quit? And what are you doing _here?_ ”

Ichigo clears his throat. “Lady Shihouin, may I introduce Lady Rukia Kuchiki? She saved my life less than an hour ago.”

Lady Shihouin raises an eyebrow. “ _Lady_ , is it now?” She slinks up to Rukia and looks at her so closely that their noses nearly touch, then draws back. “I see. I know Byakuya didn’t marry again, so you must be the sister.”

Rukia ducks her head in a nod. “Yes, Lord Kuchiki adopted me into the clan as his sister. And I…had my reasons for leaving the guard, Lady Shihouin.”

Yoruichi’s eyebrows come together in confusion, but before she can say anymore Zaraki grunts.

“Enough chattering, Shihouin. I’ve already talked to the kitchen staff. They all swore it wasn’t them. I could probably beat it out of them.” He shakes his head and little bells chime in his hair. “Or maybe it’s one of these women running around sniffing at you.”

“ _No_ , you can’t beat the kitchen staff, Zaraki. But I do want to know who tried to kill me – and Lady Kuchiki by extension, since we were given the same pot of tea,” Ichigo says and scowls at Zaraki when the general grumbles. “You _may_ investigate, and question as many servants as you want.” His eyes look up at Lady Shihouin. “Lady Shihouin. I would like _your_ guards to keep an eye on the…candidates.”

Yoruichi perks up. “When you say _keep an eye_ on…”

“As Zaraki said, it could be one of the women, or their fathers,” Ichigo acknowledges. “Keep an eye on them. Discreetly.”

“Fine. But I want Lady Kuchiki’s help,” Yoruichi says, and grins when Rukia gasps under her breath. “As one of your _candidates_ she won’t stand out the way my guards will.”

At Ichigo’s questioning look, Rukia nods reluctantly. “If it will help the Emperor and the Empire, of course I will.”

Zaraki makes a face again. “Good. You and your spies and _sword dancers_ can watch the girls. My guards will deal with everyone else. If that’s all?” At Ichigo’s nod, he throws the door open and leaves, hair still chiming.

“And I’ll talk to _my_ girls.” She looks between Ichigo and Rukia, and grins again. “Be careful, Lady Kuchiki. I’m sure the Emperor can escort you back to your room.” When they both blush, she sketches another curtsy and glides out the office door.

“Ah. I _would_ be happy to escort you,” Ichigo says when they are alone again. “These hallways can get confusing.” He stands and offers his hand to help her up.

“Thank you, your Imperial Highness,” Rukia says and takes his hand. The walk back to her room is more leisurely than their walk to Ichigo’s office. The Emperor is not exactly a _verbose_ man, but he periodically points out something interesting along the way, and so Rukia learns how to get to the palace courtyard and the labyrinth that Ichigo’s great-grandfather built over a century ago.

“Labyrinths and mazes were all the rage after he built this one,” Ichigo comments as they pass it. “I don’t know how many of them survive, but at one point every noble clan had one on their estate.”

“The Kuchiki Manor still has one. Lord Kuchiki had it restored after he became head of the clan,” Rukia murmurs. Her hand is resting on the Emperor’s forearm again. The dark fabric he wears is soft against her fingertips and she can just barely feel the heat of his body through it.

“Perhaps you would be willing to walk the palace labyrinth with me tomorrow morning?” Ichigo asks. His voice has a hopeful note in it.

Rukia’s fingertips tingle and an image forms in her mind. It is the gateway to a temple, she thinks, although she doesn’t know which one. The image is gone before she can see further. It is not the public temple of the capital city or the shrine near the manor.

“Lady Kuchiki?” His voice startles Rukia out of her thoughts.

“Ah! I am sorry, your Imperial Highness. Yes, I’d love to walk the labyrinth with you.” The tingling settles and Rukia has the sense that whatever the image was showing her, she has made the right choice with her answer.

A moment later they are at the doorway to Rukia’s shared room with Lady Inoue. She curtsies to Ichigo and he says, with a little smile on his face, “Until tomorrow, my lady.” He turns and is gone with a sweep of black robes.


	5. A Walk in the Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disapproving nobleman arrives on the scene, and Emperor Ichigo takes Rukia for a walk through the labyrinth.

Rukia lets herself into the room; Lady Inoue is sitting in one of the chairs by the window with a large embroidery hoop in hand.

“Ah! Lady Kuchiki. I was wondering what happened to you. Did you and the Emperor find out who tried to poison his tea? Was it an assassin from the Country of Athal? An evil spirit?”

Rukia laughs a little helplessly and shuts the door behind her. “Ah, no, we don’t know yet who tried to hurt the Emperor. The Royal Guard is investigating, and so is the Elite Women’s Guard. I’m sure they’ll find the culprit soon, Lady Inoue.” She doesn’t mention that she’s essentially been seconded to the women’s guard.

“Oh, good, good! Did you spend time with the Emperor?” Rukia can feel her cheeks heat at the question, and Inoue smiles, eyes sparkling a little. “You did! He seems _very_ interested in you, I could tell by the way he looked at you yesterday morning.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps, but he has many beautiful women to consider,” Rukia demurs. “And _you’re_ one of them, Lady Inoue.”

The other woman giggles shyly, but when Rukia sits down on the chair across from her she shakes her head a little. “The Emperor doesn’t have any interest in _me_. But he introduced me to Lord Ishida.”

“Oh?” Rukia disguises a relieved breath behind the sleeve of her dress.

“Yes! Lord Ishida is such a _fascinating_ man. He’s the Emperor’s expert in all things magical and his skill with fiber crafts is just _incredible_ ,” Lady Inoue gushes. “There’s an entire gallery dedicated to fiber crafts in the palace, and we walked through it together after the Emperor ended tea. Did you know that the late Empress was quite accomplished with fiber crafts? She created a tapestry series that depicts the entire history of the empire as her wedding gift to the late Emperor.”

“I did not know that,” Rukia admits. And in the back of her head she thinks, _I could never do that for the Emperor. I have only the ability to dance with a blade and deflect a blow_.

“You must go see it! Perhaps the Emperor will take you there?” Inoue asks, and giggles again when Rukia blushes.

“Perhaps. He has asked me to walk with him through the palace labyrinth tomorrow morning.”

“Oh! Oh, we have to pick out a dress, Lady Kuchiki. What did you bring with you?” Inoue leaps from her chair and grabs Rukia’s hand to pull her up as well.

Rukia follows Lady Inoue to their shared closet a little reluctantly. But Inoue just looks over the dresses and hums thoughtfully.

Inoue pulls out a lavender dress and holds it up against the smaller woman. “Too formal for a morning walk.” She places that back in the closet and grabs the other light-colored dress, a buttercup yellow dress with dark gray bands. “Hmm. You don’t have any dresses for formal suppers?”

“Lord Kuchiki has a townhome in the city. I can send for additional dresses if need be.” Rukia silently thinks, _I thought the Emperor would take one look at me and send me away, not actively court me._

“Ah, I think that would be a good idea, Lady Kuchiki. But in the meantime, I think this dress will work with a few modifications.”

It’s the first time that Rukia has seen someone with fiber crafts skill in action. The dressmaker who created her garments in the first place has the ability, of course, but such things have always taken place out of Rukia’s sight. So it’s fascinating to wear the dress Inoue selected, stand on a stepstool across from a mirror, and watch her work magic.

Unlike the magic used in battle, the material arts and fiber crafts are not the _flashiest_ of the magics that exist in the Empire. Lady Inoue takes the embroidery needle from her project and touches it to the silk of Rukia’s dress. “The neckline first, I think.” At Rukia’s slightly panicked look, she laughs gently. “Don’t worry! I can tell that you prefer to be modest. But this is practically _matronly_.”

She isn’t wrong; the dress covers Rukia practically to her chin. “The dressmaker was a little annoyed when I told her not to insult the Emperor,” she comments, and Lady Inoue laughs again.

Though she doesn’t use scissors, as Inoue touches the needle to the neckline the fabric begins to fold away on its own, and Rukia watches silently as the neckline drops and widens to reveal her collar bones. Lady Inoue draws the needle along the neckline a second time and more fabric carves itself out of the fabric in the center of her chest, creating a modest v shape.

Rukia’s waistline is next; Lady Inoue pokes and tucks, and the dress draws in slightly to emphasize her waist. She looks at the sleeves critically. “It’s still chilly, but perhaps...” There is more poking and suddenly instead of ending in a plain cuff at her left wrist the fabric shortens at the top of her wrist and then drapes down gracefully to a point beneath. Lady Inoue repeats the action on the other sleeve.

White embroidery appears on the sleeves as Lady Inoue continues to work, trailing white cosmos flowers along the fabric where it drapes away from Rukia’s wrists. “There, that’s _much_ better. Now…the hem. Lady Kuchiki, I know the gray bands are for mourning, but… _must_ you?”

Rukia clears her throat. “Please, call me Rukia. And I must. I know that we’re all exempt from dressing in full mourning, but it doesn’t feel right to pretend that Emperor Isshin isn’t gone,” she explains.

Lady Inoue just nods. “Orihime, then, please.” She kneels. “I have a better idea for that, then, and I’ll tuck up the hem. It’s a little long for you.” Rukia stands perfectly still until Orihime stands and examines Rukia critically. “Yes, that’s much better. What do you think?”

Rukia turns her attention to the mirror. “It’s _beautiful_ , Orihime! I’ve never seen someone use fiber crafts before.” She looks taller in the modified dress. Instead of gray bands, the fabric itself looks like it has been dip-dyed dark gray starting just below her knees, creating a soft ombre effect. The yellow fabric looks a little softer than she remembers it being, and Rukia touches one sleeve lightly. “Did you…change the _fabric_?” she asks incredulously.

Orihime laughs softly and anchors her needle back into the fabric of her embroidery project. “I told it to be softer to the touch, yes.” Her eyes dance mischievously as she looks at Rukia.

She feels her cheeks heat and Rukia steps down from the stool. “I’d better get changed. I don’t want to crease it before tomorrow morning.” She hangs up the dress with care and selects one in navy blue; it’s a little more formal and suitable for supper.

“Oh. _Rukia_. We’re fixing all of your dresses and you must have Lord Kuchiki fire your dressmaker,” Orihime gasps. “Come here, let me adjust this one before supper.”

It occurs to Rukia that perhaps she should be offended, but Orihime is so gentle about it that she just steps back onto the stool and lets Orihime pare away extra fabric.

Ichigo is in his office the following morning when Advisor Hitsugaya strides in, a disgruntled look on his face. He bows, briefly, and at Ichigo’s raised eyebrow spits out, “Lord Sosuke Aizen is here and requesting an audience with you.”

“He’s here _now_?” Ichigo asks. A glance at the clock on his desk tells him that it’s barely eight in the morning. “Is it urgent?”

Hitsugaya shakes his head. “He says he’s here to pay his respects to the new emperor. I pointed out that open court is in two days, but Lord Aizen is rather insistent. He pointed out that his clan has been a strong ally of the empire.” There is a slight sneer in his words, and Ichigo leans back in his chair.

“You don’t like Lord Aizen.”

“No,” Hitsugaya agrees. “Your father didn’t, either. There’s something altogether too smooth about him. His wife died under questionable circumstances just after their marriage. And he claims to have expertise in the material arts, but…” He makes a face.

“But?” Ichigo prompts.

“I don’t think it’s true. Or he knows more magic than he says. It’s just a feeling,” Hitsugaya admits.

Ichigo scowls and turns his head, looking out the window. “I’ll see him,” he says. “Have him escorted into the smaller receiving room and send…Ukitake to join me.”

Hitsugaya bows and departs. Ichigo sighs and rises. His open robe is draped over the back of his chair and he slips it on, then pulls down on it to settle it on his shoulders. The robe is heavily embroidered with chrysanthemum flowers from waist to hem; despite the fact that the women he has been surrounded by for two days dress like rainbows, Ichigo still wears stark black.

He leaves his office and stalks down the hallway, feet silent on the hard flooring, until he reaches the receiving room. There is a guard stationed at the door and Advisor Ukitake is waiting for him. The guard and the older man both bow to him.

“Your Imperial Highness. You asked for me?” Like him, Ukitake is in black silk. His white hair hangs loose to his shoulders.

Ichigo nods. “I did. Lord Aizen is here to see me, apparently.” At Ukitake’s questioning look he says, “I would like your opinion, once I’ve spoken to him.”

The guard pushes the door open and bows Ichigo inside, with Ukitake following him. Ichigo sits on the modest wooden throne and Ukitake stands behind him. The door at the other end of the room opens and Lord Aizen strides in.

This is the first time Ichigo has met Aizen, and he quickly looks over the other man as he approaches the throne. Aizen is very correctly wearing mourning garb: black trousers, black shirt, black cape. His brown hair is cut short; a single lock hangs down the center of his forehead. When Aizen is close enough he bows, and when he is standing straight again Ichigo can see his eyes.

He’s sure that some people would call those eyes kind, but they put Ichigo in mind of a dead fish.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Aizen says smoothly, with a hint of a smile on his face. “Please allow me to offer my condolences on the death of Emperor Isshin. He will be much missed.”

“Thank you, Lord Aizen,” Ichigo responds, his voice a little rough.

“I am only sorry I could not attend the funeral. I have been out of the country and heard of his death only a few days ago,” Aizen continues. “As your advisors may have told you, your father tasked me with making inroads for the empire in Athal. News takes _quite_ some time to get to Athal from the capital city.”

“I’m sure.” There is a sudden point of pain behind his left eye, and Ichigo tries to blink it away. “And was your mission successful?” he asks.

Aizen settles into a wide-legged stance. “It was partially successful, yes. There is a strip of land along our shared border. The farmers and homesteaders there are tired of Athal’s neglect, and the guards are easily bribed. They are ready to act once I give the word, and we will be able to annex more than ten percent of Athal’s territory.”

Ichigo raises an eyebrow. “I see. That is substantial,” he agrees. “I will have to consider our timing. Is there anything else you’d like to report about your journey?”

“Hmm. I heard a number of rumors on my way to the palace,” Aizen says. “They say that you are looking for a bride and have called women here to be paraded in front of you.” Ichigo can hear disapproval in his voice. At the same time, the pain behind his eye has grown greater and something deep inside of Ichigo is sounding a warning.

“Those rumors are true,” Ichigo says. “The timing is less than ideal, but as Emperor I must begin to think about my heirs.”

“But while the country is still in mourning, Sir?” Aizen’s voice is silky. “Surely it can wait until after the official coronation.”

Ichigo does his best to shrug nonchalantly. “It is giving me an opportunity to get to know some of the more prominent clans in the empire despite a royal tour being out of the question.”

Aizen nods, but there is something dissatisfied in his expression. “I see. Of course, your Imperial Highness. That is wise.”

“Hn. Do you have other news to report, Lord Aizen?” Ichigo prods lightly. “If you do not, you are welcome to enjoy my hospitality. I’m sure the journey to get to the palace all the way from Athal was a tiring one.”

Aizen bows again. “I have no other important news, but I will gladly accept your offer of hospitality. It has indeed been a very long trip from Athal.”

Ichigo gestures to a guard. “Escort Lord Aizen to an appropriate suite of rooms,” he orders. “He is to be treated as an honored guest of the Emperor.” When Aizen has left the receiving room the same way he came in, the pain in Ichigo’s head suddenly dissipates and he stands. Ukitake follows him as he hurries back toward his office.

“Send for Hitsugaya,” he orders the guard at the door. When he, Ukitake, and Hitsugaya are alone and the door is shut, he asks, “Did my father order the infiltration of Athal?”

Ukitake and Hitsugaya exchange a look. “Not to my knowledge,” Ukitake admits. “We have a nonaggression treaty with the kingdom.”

Ichigo quickly fills in Hitsugaya regarding his conversation with Aizen and then orders, “Keep an eye on him. Discreetly.” Then he says, “You were right, Toshiro. I don’t think his talents lie solely within the material arts.”

“What do you think it is?” Toshiro asks. But Ichigo shakes his head.

“If I’m right, it’s best not to say. I’ll talk to Uryuu and see if he has any insights.” Then he glances over at the clock on his desk. “Keep this to yourselves,” he orders.

“Do you have somewhere to be, Sir?” Ukitake asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Ichigo can _feel_ the heat coming up the back of his neck. “I promised to escort Lady Kuchiki through the labyrinth after breakfast.”

Ukitake grins at him and just laughs when Ichigo scowls in return.

In another part of the palace, Rukia dons the buttercup yellow dress and has breakfast with Orihime. They’re in one of the smaller ballrooms, which is set up with tables for no more than four. The walls are surprisingly plain, with the only decoration being golden sconces set alight with magical fire.

She tries not to pay attention as, over the rims of glasses full of juice (there are _very_ few women drinking tea this morning) and modest portions of porridge and fruit, the other women look at her. There are unpleasant murmurings along the edge of her hearing, and one particular woman is holding court at a cluster of three tables. Rukia hears the words _interloper_ and _I bet she poisoned the tea herself_ , and keeps her attention resolutely on her own breakfast.

Even close to nine in the morning, there are fewer women than there were yesterday; she leans forward and says quietly to Orihime, “Do you think the rest are sleeping in?”

Orihime swirls red bean paste through her porridge thoughtfully. “Perhaps one or two. But yesterday was quite scary. Uryuu said that at least six women left with their families last night and withdrew themselves from consideration.”

Rukia purses her lips. “I see.” Then she smirks at Orihime. “It’s _Uryuu_ , now?”

The other woman’s cheeks heat with a blush. “We went for a walk in the courtyard last night.”

“I see,” Rukia says again, lips curving into a smile, and glances around once more. “Well, I guess it’s for the best that they leave if they’re scared. The Elite Women’s Guard must stop half a dozen plots against the princesses each year; having this many women around must be a strain.”

“Against the princesses? But who would want to harm them?!” Orihime exclaims.

“It’s not that surprising,” Rukia says with a shrug. “When they were younger, it was mostly attempted kidnappings. Some fools think they’ll get ransom money instead of a sword through the throat.”

Orihime shudders delicately. “How awful.” Then she perks up. “But they have the guard to protect them. I wish I could be a guard! I’d slap around anyone who tried to hurt the princesses with my sword!” She flings her spoon around in a poor imitation of swordplay, and Rukia laughs even though the other women are staring.

“Well I don’t know how your family would feel about it, but you’re not too old to join the guard. Some noblewomen do. Lady Shihouin, the guard captain, is from a noble family.”

Her dining companion sighs. “My aunt and uncle would never allow it.” Orihime ducks her head, but then she flashes Rukia a smile and dips her spoon into her porridge again. “But that’s alright! I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to use a sword anyway.”

Before Rukia can comment, a servant appears at their table. “Lady Kuchiki, the Emperor has asked that I escort you to the palace gardens, if you have finished your breakfast,” she says.

Rukia blushes and hurries out of her chair. “Yes, I’m ready,” she says. “Please, lead on.”

As she follows the servant to the door, a perfectly coiffed brunette scoffs and says something about how the Emperor must be practicing before he courts a real woman. But to Rukia’s surprise, Rangiku laughs out loud and takes a long sip from her glass of tomato juice before setting it down on the table with a thump. “Are you _kidding_? Lady Kuchiki’s _gorgeous_ and I’d marry her myself if the Emperor wasn’t smitten. You, on the other hand, look like you’d be entirely comfortable in the stables.” She winks ostentatiously at Rukia.

Rukia manages a little smile before the servant, a young brunette in a simple black shirt and a pair of wide-leg trousers, chivvies her along to the gardens.

The Emperor is waiting for her, a scowl on his face, but his lips curve into a smile when he sees her, and it warms something inside Rukia. “Lady Kuchiki,” he says as the servant hovers near them. “I hope I didn’t rush you away from breakfast.”

Rukia curtsies and watches as Ichigo’s eyes sweep over her. There is something appreciative but not lecherous in his gaze, and she silently thanks Orihime once more for her help. “Not at all, your Imperial Highness.”

“Good. Walk with me?” he gestures toward the labyrinth. It is a structure of stone and greenery, not quite tall enough to be a _maze_ for getting lost in.

The walls and manicured bushes come up to Rukia’s shoulders as she walks beside the Emperor through the arched entrance into the labyrinth. Despite the fact that the structure is low enough for her to see over, it’s _quiet_ : the sounds of the guards training nearby, the sounds of other people in the gardens have vanished. She looks up at Ichigo questioningly. “It’s very peaceful here,” she remarks.

“Ah. Yes, my grandfather was exceptionally talented in the material arts. He devised a way of softening the sounds from the outside world,” Ichigo explains. His arm brushes against hers as they walk, and his fingertips seem to linger on the fabric of her dress.

“That really _is_ very talented,” Rukia agrees.

“Where do your talents lie?” Ichigo asks as they take the first turn toward the center of the maze. The greenery changes: there are white trumpet-shaped flowers springing from the walls here.

Rukia hums under her breath. “I don’t have any ability in the material arts like most proper noblewomen,” she prevaricates.

“Rukia.” His voice is quiet, and when she looks up at him his eyes are honey-colored in the sunlight. “Please don’t belittle yourself.”

“I am sorry, your Imperial Highness,” she murmurs.

His fingertips come up to touch her chin before she can look away from him. “Hm. You haven’t answered my question.”

Rukia’s cheeks heat when his skin touches hers, but she manages to say, “Just battle magics, I’m afraid. My strongest abilities are defensive.”

Ichigo lets his hand fall away from her chin and they continue walking, taking another right turn and entering the second ring of the labyrinth. “I should have expected that,” he admits, “given your history with the guard.”

Though the gardens are well-manicured, they are not free of animals and Ichigo’s hand comes up under her elbow automatically to help Rukia navigate a spot where a burrower has left its mark in the form of several large holes in the ground. “Yes,” Rukia agrees when they are on unblemished grass again. “But as I said, it’s not quite proper for a lady.”

Ichigo glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “For a lady who does not have to worry about being attacked, perhaps. For one who does, it’s a much more valuable skill than, say, metalcrafts.”

“Do you think I’m in danger, your Imperial Highness?” Rukia asks. “Lord Kuchiki is quite powerful, but the clan has few enemies.”

Ichigo comes to a stop and looks down at her. “Powerful women are always at risk,” he says.

She blinks. “I am not _powerful_ ,” she protests.

Before Ichigo can reply, someone is screaming from the outside of the maze, “Your Imperial Highness! Sir! You must come quick!”

Ichigo and Rukia look at one another and hurry back toward the entrance of the maze. Rukia hikes her skirt up to better keep up with his longer strides. There are two members of the Elite Women’s Guard waiting, as well as the same servant who escorted Rukia to the labyrinth. She is pale and shaking.

“Sir, there’s been an incident. One of the women…” the servant swallows, hard.

“Speak,” Ichigo demands.

“Lady Murata is dead,” she manages. “Killed by magic.”

“Where?”

“What kind of magic?”

Ichigo and Rukia speak over one another. They exchange a look and then focus on the servant again.

“We’ll escort you there, Sir,” one of the guards offers. Rukia recognizes her despite her years away from the palace.

“Send for Lord Ishida and Lady Unohana,” Ichigo orders. He follows the guards and servant as they begin to walk back toward the main building. The servant bolts ahead of them to carry out his command.

Rukia hurries to keep up; when they have stepped through the set of doors leading inside, Ichigo looks down at her and opens his mouth as if to say something, but Rukia just says, “If battle magic was involved, maybe I can help?”

“Matsui is an expert in battle magic.” Rukia turns to look at the guard who spoke – it’s the same one who offered an escort to the site of Lady Murata’s death.

“Ah. Lady Kuchiki, this is Lieutenant Tatsuki Arisawa,” Ichigo introduces.

“We’ve met,” Arisawa says, and her eyes rake over Rukia’s form. “Didn’t think _you’d_ trade in a blade for a gown.”

Ichigo steps forward as if to shield Rukia, but she just lifts her chin. “Lieutenant Arisawa,” she chides, “Right now, our first concern is Lady Murata and her family.”

“ _Our_?” The word is incredulous on Arisawa’s lips.

“Our,” Rukia affirms. She turns to Ichigo. “Your Imperial Highness, I’ll find Junior Advisor Yamada so that Lady Murata’s family can be properly informed, if you’ll permit.”

Ichigo just nods solemnly. “That would be helpful, Lady Kuchiki, thank you. Take Arisawa with you.”

The two women’s eyebrows raise nearly into their hairlines, but the Emperor’s word is law – so Arisawa stalks off with Rukia trailing a step behind.

When they are out of Ichigo’s sight they stop, and Rukia closes her eyes and _reaches_. This is the ability that _would_ have made her useful in emergencies, if she hadn’t left the guard. She has met Junior Advisor Yamada and that is enough to let her see where he is in the palace. “He is in the healer’s quarters by the smallest courtyard,” she says.

When Rukia opens her eyes, Arisawa is staring at her. “Why did you leave us, Rukia?” she asks in a low voice.

Rukia just strides forward. “I had my reasons. And they aren’t important right now.” She stays silent even in the face of another glare from Arisawa, who just sighs and follows her.


	6. An Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The palace advisors investigate Lady Murata's death, and Lord Ishida questions Rukia about her abilities.

Lord Ishida and Lady Unohana reach Lady Murata’s body just as Ichigo and his guard round the corner. There are guards in the hallway already, and they part for Ichigo with low bows.

“Has anyone moved the body?” Ishida asks. He pulls a short, squared-off piece of steel from his belt. “Did anyone see her die?”

“The body hasn’t been moved. One of the other girls saw it happen,” a guard affirms. He gestures at a closed door partway down the hall. “We have her in there with a member of the women’s guard.”

Ishida just nods and runs the steel in his hand above the woman’s body. Other than the awkward position and her gray eyes, which in death are staring at nothing, there is little to indicate what has happened. “Help me roll her over,” Ishida commands, and the guard who spoke hurries to comply. “Hm. No apparent injuries,” he comments. “This wasn’t done with battle magic.”

Unohana performs a cursory examination of her own, sniffing at the unfortunate woman’s mouth and running a hand just over her body. The oversized black robes she wears shift and create whispers of fabric sliding against itself as she stands. “I concur with Lord Ishida,” she says in a high, polite voice. “There are also no immediate signs of poisoning.”

“But you have a theory already,” Ichigo says in response, his hands clenching tightly in his robes.

“I’ll need to talk to the woman who saw it happen,” Ishida cautions, and Unohana hums her agreement. He gives Ichigo a significant look – one the Emperor knows means, _not here_.

So Ichigo just nods and when a guard suggests that under the circumstances, he is too exposed in the open hallway, he allows himself to be led back to his office.

Hitsugaya is waiting for him, and Ichigo waves the man to a seat on one of the benches. “How far has the news spread?” he asks in a low growl of a voice.

“Yamada told me,” Hitsugaya acknowledges. He runs a hand through the thicket of white hair atop his head and admits, “Between yesterday’s attempted poisoning and this, Sir, I’m concerned for your safety. Not to mention the safety of everyone else in the palace.”

Ichigo grimaces. “Ishida and Unohana have examined the body and were planning to speak to a witness when I left them. Have Zaraki and Shihouin increase the presence of _both_ guards in the palace.”

“That includes the guards assigned to you, Sir,” Hitsugaya points out.

The door to his office opens and Unohana glides inside, followed by Ishida, who shuts the door behind him.

They both bow and Unohana’s hair, braided down the front of her body, swings as she rises back up.

“Well?” Ichigo asks.

“It was a magical trap,” Ishida announces. “And one I haven’t seen before. It was designed to stop the heart of the person who tripped it.” He eyes Ichigo. “I think the target was _you_ , Sir.”

Ichigo takes a breath and leans forward in his chair. “Why do you say that?”

“Lady Murata was uncommonly tall for a woman – about your height. Someone shorter would not have triggered it. And the trap was only a short distance from this room, on a route _you_ normally take after breakfast. The girl who saw what happened said that they were coming here to ‘get your attention’ since they are _real_ noblewomen,” Ishida says, lip curling on the last words.

Ichigo frowns at him. “Did Lady Murata have any disagreements with the other women in the palace?”

“Well…” At Ichigo’s raised eyebrow, Ishida says reluctantly, “Lady Inoue said that she was very upset with how much attention you’re paying to Lady Kuchiki. But more than a few of the women are; you haven’t exactly been _subtle._ ”

The pointed tone makes Ichigo’s fingers twitch on his desk. “Lady Kuchiki was with me when the death occurred, and in the breakfast rooms before that. Could you tell how long the trap had been there before it was activated?” Ichigo asks.

“The magic felt fresh but unfamiliar.” Ishida pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger. “I can’t pinpoint an exact time, but I doubt the trap was laid more than a day ago.”

“Lady Kuchiki told me that she has battle magics, but I’ve never seen them used to lay a _trap._ Is that something you’ve seen before?”

“ _Battle_ magics? No, this was something I’d expect to see from someone who’d turned to the darker side of the healing arts,” Ishida muses.

Ichigo stifles his sigh of relief and shifts his gaze. “Did you learn anything further, Lady Unohana?”

The woman in question shakes her head. “I’m afraid not, Sir. And as you know, helping Lady Murata is beyond even my skill.”

He just nods. “I sent Lady Kuchiki to find Yamada and tell her family.” Ichigo glances up at Ishida. “They’ll want more than my apology. We need to find out who did this.”

“As I said, the magic used felt unfamiliar. I might be able to recognize it if the caster is still in the palace,” Ishida says thoughtfully. “I _also_ think the palace needs to be scanned for more of these traps.”

“Won’t that take _days_? What are we supposed to do with all the courtiers, not to mention all these _women_ and their families, while you’re looking for magic traps?” Hitsugaya demands.

Ishida shrugs. “I can enlist the support of the women’s guard, and a few of the healers have the ability to sense magic, if I may borrow some of your subordinates, Lady Unohana?”

“Of course. It will be excellent training for them,” Unohana agrees immediately.

“There will be fewer people to worry about soon anyway,” Ichigo points out. “A death in the palace will send some of our guests running home.”

“Not Lady Kuchiki though, hm?” Ishida asks with a smirk.

“Hn. You’d better hope Lady Inoue isn’t easily scared off, either,” Ichigo comments, and grins when Ishida sputters and blushes.

Hitsugaya openly rolls his eyes. “If we can focus, your Imperial Highness, Lord Ishida? We have at least one assassin roaming through the palace at will. Perhaps it would be best if _all_ of these women went home.”

“I disagree.” The voice comes from Advisor Ukitake, who shuts the door behind him. He bows briefly before continuing, “The assassin wants to kill you, but they also clearly want to create chaos and fear. Sending the remaining women home will only create the impression that you are afraid. Not to mention, Sir, you have a deadline.”

“It’s still ten months away!” Hitsugaya grumbles. “And if this Kuchiki woman is your choice, why drag things out?”

Ichigo’s cheeks heat and he scoffs defensively, “Who said I’ve made a choice?”

Ukitake gives him a pitying look. “You’re behaving like Shunsui did when he was pursuing me, Sir.”

“I agree with Ukitake,” Ishida puts in. “His Imperial Highness must show that he isn’t afraid.”

“And if the families decide that we can’t protect them? Lady Murata was a noblewoman.”

“Lady Murata’s death is a tragedy, but now we know that someone in the palace is willing to use magic to kill,” Ishida responds. “We can enlist the guard, tighten up security, and show the noble clans that the Emperor is as strong as his father and grandfather were.”

“Fine,” Hitsugaya snaps. “But don’t forget, the Elite Women’s Guard is responsible for the princesses. If they’re stretched too thin protecting all these other women, the Crown Princess and Princess Yuzu could be at risk.”

“We’re mobilizing both the Royal Guard _and_ the Elite Women’s Guard,” Ichigo points out. “Together, they should be adequate.”

“I’m sure you’re right, your Imperial Highness. But having all these women running around the palace is chaotic,” Hitsugaya grumbles.

Ichigo raises an eyebrow. “It would be more chaotic to have a magic-forced transition of power ten months from now, I expect. Unless you’d like to be Karin’s advisor.”

Hitsugaya just grumbles under his breath, and Ichigo’s eyes narrow a little suspiciously at the man’s blush.

The door opens again and Junior Advisor Yamada steps in, hair in disarray and a wide-eyed expression on his face. He bows to Ichigo sharply and surreptitiously dabs sweat away from his temples.

“That’s settled, then. Lord Ishida, Lady Unohana, I leave the finding of any other magical traps in your hands. Yamada, you’ll continue to be the liaison between…” Ichigo pauses. “How many women are still in the palace?”

Yamada scratches his head. “Ah, well, as of this morning there were still thirty, but more will leave because of this mess, Sir.”

“Lady Murata’s family will want compensation, won’t they?” Ichigo’s expression is somber again.

“Her parents are in a state of shock right now, but I expect so,” Yamada admits. “I left them with Lady Kuchiki and Lieutenant Arisawa.” At Ichigo’s raised eyebrow, he adds, voice wobbling nervously, “Lady Kuchiki seemed adept at comforting them! Lieutenant Arisawa was just standing guard.”

“I want it confirmed beyond any doubt that this magic trap is what killed her. Make a recommendation of compensation.” Ichigo purses his lips. “Ukitake, speak with your husband about having prayers said for her in the palace temple.” Ukitake nods briefly, and hides a cough behind the sleeve of his robe.

Hitsugaya frowns at him. “We need to investigate whether Lady Kuchiki was the one who set this trap. What if she has more than just battle magics?”

“She was uncomfortable admitting that her magic was not more _ladylike_ ,” Ichigo points out. “And she is an honorable woman. She wouldn’t set a trap and kill someone – let alone a trap that was more likely to kill _me_ – just because they grumbled about her presence here.”

“You’ve only known her for a few days, Sir.” Hitsugaya’s voice is skeptical.

“That’s long enough to know that she wouldn’t use such a cowardly way to kill someone,” Ichigo insists, and scowls at the looks exchanged between his advisors. “I have promised to keep her confidences, and I won’t break that promise.”

There is another exchange of looks, but then Yamada bows and says, “I need to see to our guests, Sir.” When Ichigo nods, he darts back out of the office.

“I’ll speak with Lady Shihouin and General Zaraki.” Hitsugaya bows his way out of the room. When Unohana does the same, Ishida waits until the door is closed before he speaks.

“I can interview Lady Kuchiki discreetly,” he offers. “It will settle down your advisors and confirm what you already believe.”

Ichigo frowns at him. “What I already _know_.”

“What _I_ know is that you’re half in love with this woman and everyone in the palace must see it by now. I’ll confirm whether she has any knowledge of the healing arts and whether she could have set the trap that killed Lady Murata.” Ishida ignores Ichigo’s grumbling stands and pushes his glasses up his nose. “We can’t allow anyone to start spreading rumors that you’re involved with a corrupted healer and murderess.”

With that, Ishida bows and slips out as well, leaving Ichigo alone in his office.

After a moment, he stands and walks to the long, narrow wooden chest under the window. The lock opens at a touch. As a general rule, Emperors are not supposed to carry swords; there are guards and soldiers to do that. But Ichigo has trained with a blade since he was a young boy. For the first time since his father’s death, Ichigo lifts Zangetsu – for that is what he has named the slender daito with the black hilt – from the chest and straps it to his waist.

His robe is a problem. Ichigo isn’t particularly skilled with fiber craft, but he runs a finger along the left side seam of his robe, and it splits from waist to hem, giving him easier access to his sword.

There is a knock on the door of Rukia and Orihime’s shared rooms in the middle of the afternoon, and Rukia opens it curiously to find Lord Ishida standing in the doorway. “Ah,” she says, and offers him a brief curtsy. “Lord Ishida. I’m afraid Lady Inoue is in the gardens right now.”

Ishida’s cheeks turn light pink, but he shakes his head briefly. “I came to see you, Lady Kuchiki. Will you walk with me?”

Puzzled, Rukia steps outside and shuts the door behind her. “How can I assist you?” she asks when they are halfway down the hallway. “Is this about Lady Inoue?”

“Hn. It’s about you, Lady Kuchiki. Today’s incident was…troubling. I’m told that Lady Murata was heard complaining about your presence in the palace.”

Rukia shrugs briefly. “There are a few women who have. She may have been one of them,” she agrees readily.

“Hn. And does that anger you?” Ishida asks as they turn and enter an open hallway that overlooks the courtyard.

“While it is… _dismaying_ to have my reputation questioned, Lord Ishida, I’m not so troubled by it as to take action. Is the Emperor rescinding his invitation?”

“No!” Ishida’s voice is strident, but he settles quickly. “No, Lady Kuchiki,” he says more calmly. “His Imperial Highness is convinced that you did not have anything to do with Lady Murata’s death. But some of his advisors would like more assurances than his word.”

“I understand.” Rukia turns to lean against the railing and look out over the courtyard. “Ask your questions, Lord Ishida.”

“Do you possess knowledge of the healing arts?”

Rukia laughs gently. “No, my skill is in battle magics. My only knowledge of healing involves performing first aid before someone with those powers can help.”

“Have you ever used your magic to set a trap for someone?” Ishida asks.

“No. I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to go about doing something like that,” Rukia admits.

“What _are_ your abilities then?” he presses, and Rukia hums thoughtfully.

“I can locate someone if I know what their magic feels like. I can shield and use fire, including blue fire,” she recites.

Ishida nods slowly. “I’d like to test your magic against the trap that killed Lady Murata.” From within a pocket of his robes he pulls a small, rectangular piece of steel.

“Go ahead.” Rukia straightens up and looks at him. “I am very sorry that she has died, but I had nothing to do with it.”

While she watches Ishida does – something – with the metal in his hand, and Rukia takes a deep breath as the sensation of energy pulling away from her fills her body.

“Thank you for your time, Lady Kuchiki,” Ishida says solemnly. He bows slightly. “Please give Lady Inoue my regards.”

Rukia can’t resist a grin at that. “I will, Lord Ishida. But perhaps you could call her Orihime?”

Ishida blushes and sputters even as he hurries away, leaving Rukia to walk back to her rooms alone. She stands at the railing for a while longer, allowing the cool breeze to brush against her face, before slowly walking back to her rooms.

Rukia doesn’t expect the hand that comes out of nowhere to shove her so that she nearly topples down a set of stairs just before she reaches her own rooms, and only her still-fast reflexes allow her to grab onto the railing and balance herself.

There is no one there when Rukia straightens, but she hears footsteps running away and catches a glimpse of a bright yellow dress before the culprit is out of sight. She shakes her head and keeps an eye out as she walks the rest of the way to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's safe to say at this point that Emperor will not be done before August 31, as I still need to write responses to the day 28-31 prompts and Emperor is going to be...closer to the 50K range than my original 30k estimate (apparently I am bad at estimating word counts). However, that just means that this fic will continue into September.


	7. A Formal Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Lady Murata's death, a formal palace supper goes on as planned.

The formal supper planned for the evening goes on as scheduled despite Lady Murata’s death; Rukia is surprised when Lieutenant Arisawa knocks on the door to her shared room with Orihime to tell the two of them that supper will be in half an hour.

“But…what about L—” Rukia stops when the lieutenant shakes her head and steps inside.

When the door is safely shut, she says, “We are keeping that quiet. The woman who witnessed the incident will not be attending tonight’s dinner.”

“What incident?” Orihime steps in from the washroom in a long, turquoise dress that swirls around her legs as she walks.

Rukia and Arisawa exchange a look. “I don’t see how this can be kept quiet, Lieutenant Arisawa,” Rukia says finally. “And I am surprised that His Imperial Highness is trying to do so.”

Arisawa’s lips thin and she shrugs. “I don’t know if they’re his orders. But they’re Lady Shihouin’s.”

Rukia sighs, and Orihime looks between them but just says, “Rukia, you need to get ready. Thank you for letting us know about supper, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll escort you both to the ballroom,” Arisawa says. Without waiting for an invitation, she drops into one of the armchairs and leans back to wait.

Arisawa ends up watching as Orihime works magic on the dress that Rukia is to wear to supper. Gone are the suffocating swaths of navy silk. Instead, near-transparent silk gauze the exact tone of Rukia’s skin covers her décolletage. Elegant floral embroidery in pale lavender traces across the fabric. The color of the gauze and of the embroidery deepen down her chest and torso, where a lining of similarly colored silk covers her skin from view. Layers of gauze spill into a skirt that shifts to a purple so dark it is almost black at the hem.

“Add a pocket to her left side, a narrow one with a thick lining,” Arisawa orders while Rukia is looking wide-eyed at her transformation in the full-length mirror. A dagger appears in her hand and she offers to Rukia, hilt-first.

Rukia accepts it with a frown. “Do you think this is really necessary, Lieutenant?” she asks, but slides it into the pocket that Orihime has created in an instant. She receives a pointed look in return.

“There have already been two _incidents_ , and you’ll be seated near the Emperor this evening. Consider it a contingency plan.” Arisawa stands and stretches. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late unless you two stop primping.”

Orihime frowns gently at the lieutenant but brushes invisible wrinkles out of her dress. “We’re ready, Lieutenant Arisawa. Please, lead on.”

Despite her somewhat _grumpy_ visage, Lieutenant Arisawa seems grudgingly impressed as she leads the two women down a set of stairs and through hallways to get to the dining room. “Your fiber crafts work is very skilled, Lady Inoue,” she finally compliments, and Orihime smiles prettily in return.

“Thank you, Lieutenant! Uryuu shared a new technique with me yesterday that was very helpful in fixing Lady Kuchiki’s dress,” she explains.

Rukia can’t quite conceal a smirk and she sees Arisawa do the same. They exchange a look, one that says clearly _Oh, did he_ , and Rukia says, “I am grateful for Lord Ishida’s timely _sharing_.” When Orihime’s cheeks flood with pink, Rukia just links their arms and drags her along to supper while Arisawa follows.

Lieutenant Arisawa fades into the background as Orihime and Rukia enter the double doors of the dining room. Junior Advisor Yamada is there, and he stops them long enough to greet them and say, “Lady Kuchiki, Lady Inoue, you will be dining at the head table.”

Then another servant announces loudly, “The Lady Rukia Kuchiki of the Kuchiki Clan, and the Lady Orihime Inoue of the Inoue Clan.” Heads turn their way; Rukia flushes slightly but holds her head up as the Emperor looks up from his conversation and their eyes meet.

The dining room is enormous, large enough for a state dinner, and the tapestries hanging from the walls are clearly the work of an advanced fiber crafts practitioner, for they sparkle with golden thread. Chandeliers as tall as a man hang from the ceiling and illuminate the room in warm candlelight. Filled with people as it is, the room is very _warm_ indeed, and Rukia is especially grateful for Orihime’s help: the gauze she wears on her arms is much lighter than the original dress.

People crowd around between the tables in small groups, filling the space with noise that echoes off the high ceiling and is only minimally mitigated by the tapestries. “The _head table_ ,” Orihime teases Rukia when they are far enough away from Yamada. “You clearly have the Emperor’s favor.”

Blood rushes to Rukia’s face again. “It seems so,” she admits, to Orihime’s gentle laughter. Lady Matsumoto breaks away from a group of women when she sees them and curtsies a touch mockingly. There is already a glass of wine in her hand.

“ _You_ , Lady Kuchiki, are very entertaining,” she says, and grins down at the petite woman.

Rukia glances at Orihime and with a raised eyebrow asks, “How so, Lady Matsumoto?”

“All these other women have their hackles up over the way you have the Emperor wrapped around your finger, and you’re barely even _trying_.”

Rukia’s cheeks heat and she can’t resist another look at the Emperor, whose head is still angled so that he catches the glance and returns it even as he speaks with a tall redhead in a purple dress that clashes with her hair. Every part of his body language speaks discomfort, but the redhead doesn’t seem to care: she is busy trying to lean into him and touch him. “Well,” she says as she turns her attention back to a grinning Matsumoto. “Perhaps it helps not to try too much?”

Matsumoto takes another sip of her wine. “I’m not going to try at all – I’d rather watch you,” she says with another grin. “Like I said, I’d marry you myself if the Emperor wouldn’t banish me for it.” When Rukia’s cheeks flame red, the grin widens further. “You’re just too adorable. And you,” she says as her attention turns to Orihime, who is giggling nervously. “You and Lord Ishida are too cute for words.”

“Lord Ishida is kind to be so attentive,” Orihime admits. At this, Matsumoto and Rukia both grin.

“Of course he is attentive,” Rukia agrees. “He’s _courting_ you. It’s very sweet.” And a relief, she thinks again, that she and Orihime can be friends instead of rivals.

“I thought he might be making a move on _you, Lady_ Kuchiki,” a voice says mockingly from behind them. Matsumoto makes a face and even as Rukia turns, the taller woman is sniffing contemptuously at a slender brunette in a buttercup-yellow dress.

“Don’t be ridiculous, _Miss_ Komatsu. Anyone with eyes can see that Lord Ishida is head over heels for Lady Inoue,” she snaps, and grins at Orihime.

“Hmmm, that’s not what I saw this afternoon. Kuchiki was walking _alone_ with Lord Ishida. Just wait until the Emperor finds out!” With those sour words, the other woman swans away, presumably to spread the rumor elsewhere.

Orihime is looking at her, and Rukia sighs – and wishes she had a glass of wine as well. “Lord Ishida wanted to speak with me about an…incident that took place earlier today,” she explains. “The one Lieutenant Arisawa was referring to.” She grimaces. “Someone tried to push me down the stairs afterwards – I wonder if it was her.”

Immediately Orihime’s eyes turn sympathetic, and she pats Rukia’s arm lightly. “How awful! Have you told anyone? What if it was the same person who tried to poison the Emperor?!”

Before Rukia can reply, she realizes with a start that her brother is there, and she clears her throat. “I am not certain whether my brother will approve of your work, Lady Inoue,” she says as Byakuya steps towards them.

The head of the Kuchiki clan is attired in formal black robes of silk, and his hair, which reaches his shoulders, is held away from his face by a plain thong. He bows slightly to Orihime and Lady Matsumoto, and then looks over Rukia carefully. “I don’t believe this is one of the dresses we ordered, Rukia,” he says calmly.

Rukia clears her throat again and agrees, “Lady Inoue has been extremely kind to me, and made modifications suitable for a formal supper.” She feels eyes on her; the Emperor’s, again, and some of the women nearest her.

“I see.” Byakuya’s gaze shifts to Orihime. “Your skill is impeccable, Lady Inoue. The Kuchiki Clan thanks you for your talents.” Rukia and Orihime have just enough time to exchange a glance before a chime rings through the air and he holds out a hand. “Allow me to escort you to your place for supper, Rukia. Lady Matsumoto, you are looking well.”

Lady Matsumoto curtsies to Byakuya and glides away to find her own seat.

Rukia’s arm slips from Orihime’s and she instead places it on her brother’s. “Lady Inoue is seated near me,” she says, and Byakuya holds his other arm out for Orihime to take.

“Where are you seated?” Byakuya asks a few steps later.

“Ah – the head table,” Rukia says. The words startle a look out of her brother, and she adds, “His Imperial Highness has taken an interest in me.”

Byakuya manages another “I see,” as they pass by a group of women in bright dresses. “How serious an interest?”

“I—” Rukia looks up at him. “We walked together in the palace labyrinth this morning.” There are too many people around for her to say what she is really thinking: that he shows very little interest in anyone else.

They reach the head table and find her place card; Rukia is seated diagonally across from the Emperor, a high honor indeed. He is already seated, and so Rukia, Orihime, and Byakuya bow to him before Byakuya pulls out Rukia’s chair for her. He nods, once, as Rukia sits, and seats Orihime to her right, next to Lord Ishida. Then he steps away to find his own seat, further down the same table.

The room’s volume rises again as the remaining guests are seated. Soon, the clinking of silverware against plates fills the room. Rukia’s rectangular plate contains an elegantly arranged pair of seared scallops atop a curved pool of burnt orange-colored sauce. A small pile of greens sits on the other side of the white porcelain. Her place setting is an array of silverware: there are three forks, two knives, a large soup spoon, and a pair of silver chopsticks.

“This is delicious,” Orihime whispers to her, “But it could use some gochujang.”

Rukia blinks at her. “Ah…perhaps,” she agrees hesitantly. The sauce beneath the scallops is pureed roasted peppers, and that is certainly flavorful enough for her. She eats neatly, aware of the company she is keeping.

She is also aware of the way the Emperor’s eyes track her, and the way she tracks him in kind. The way he looks at her isn’t _lecherous_ but Rukia feels his eyes occasionally glancing toward her even as he speaks with the noble next to him. She glances at him as well, even as she chats with Orihime over the scallops and a glass of delicate white wine.

Rukia’s plate is whisked away by a servant and the volume shifts: the sound of metal on porcelain slowly fades and conversation rises. The sound washes over her and seems to go straight through her. Orihime is talking with Uryuu and the Emperor is speaking with the noble on his other side; Rukia doesn’t know the man next to her and he seems more interested in his wineglass than conversation.

The next time Rukia looks at the Emperor her fingertips tingle and an image appears in her mind’s eye. It’s just a flash: a woman in pink tripping deliberately to fall into the emperor. She shakes her head to clear it, taking a quick sip of her wine, and when he looks at her she smiles as though nothing is wrong. It doesn’t seem to fully convince him, but his eyes slide elsewhere as another of his dinner companions demands his attention.

Someone else catches her eye a few seats down the table, and their eyes meet briefly before she looks away and takes a sip of her wine. Another noble, she thinks, one who looks northern, although Rukia doesn’t recognize him.

Supper is interminably long, and though they are a short distance from one another the Emperor’s attention is monopolized by the men to either side of him. Even when he tries to speak to her one of them draws him in; at one point she catches the apologetic look he sends her. The second course is more fish, presented as a plate of artfully crafted sushi and slices of paper-thin sashimi.

In all there are seven courses, not counting dessert. Through it all there is a subtle orchestration to the meal that Rukia quickly notices: when the Emperor sets his silverware or chopsticks down in a certain position, the servants begin to move through the room and clear away dirty dishes and used utensils. When the Emperor nods – just shallowly, with his eyes on the eastern corner of the room – a new course is served.

After the last course, a petite steak served with wafer-thin slices of mixed vegetables and a red wine sauce, Rukia stifles her sigh of relief when a servant announces that dessert will be served in the next room. The Emperor rises first, which prompts the rest of the hundred-odd guests to stand as well and begin moving through the gilded doors at the far end of the dining room.

Before Rukia can follow the Emperor catches her eye, and when Orihime tugs at her gently, Rukia says, “Please, go on ahead, Orihime. I’ll follow in a moment.”

“Of course, Rukia,” Orihime says, with a significant look at the Emperor, and she accepts Uryuu’s offer of an escort.

The Emperor manages to extricate himself from the nobles who have monopolized him throughout the evening, and as the volume shifts to the next room, they pace each other along either side of the table. There are only a few lingering guests – Byakuya is one of them, Rukia has noticed – when they reach the end of the table and the Emperor holds out his arm to her.

“May I escort you, Lady Kuchiki?” he asks formally, though there is a smile playing on his lips. His hair is flame-bright in the lights from the chandeliers.

Rukia takes his arm and smiles up at him as well. “I would be honored, Your Imperial Highness,” she murmurs.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t speak during dinner,” he says as they stroll toward the golden doors ahead of them. “Lord Komamura and Lord Yamamoto were…extremely eager to discuss the situation in the north.”

She looks up at him again. “There is no need to apologize, Sir. You are the Emperor – I am sure your counsel was needed.” But he laughs, and Rukia decides, _Oh, I like that sound._

“What they want is more territory,” the Emperor corrects her.

“They want to annex the southern border of Athal,” Rukia guesses, and can’t resist a smirk when he stares at her. “It’s come up before.”

“It has.” The doors are just in front of them and the Emperor hums under his breath. “Have dessert with me?”

Rukia’s cheeks flush slightly but she says, “Yes, I’d like that,” and allows him to lead her through the crowd. Guests bow to the Emperor as they pass through the doorway and rise only when they have gone by; again Rukia can feel eyes on her, but she can also feel warmth radiating out of the man next to her. It feels… _safe,_ she decides.

This secondary room, almost as large as the dining room they’ve left behind, is arranged for casual conversation. Small tables dot the space, the walls of which are covered in pale watercolor paintings. Servants stroll through the space offering hot tea and other, more alcoholic beverages.

Once again the women vying for the Emperor’s hand and their families have clumped together; Rukia can see that there are alliances old and new represented, and not a few of them look irritated at the sight of her on the Emperor’s arm. She sees at least three women in pink dresses but with her height as a disadvantage, there could be more beyond her sight.

There are murmurs as they pass, and even the Emperor cannot stop the buzzing of indignation that an _adopted orphan_ is on his arm. But far from pulling away, he stands taller and tugs her just a little closer – as close as he can bring her without making things _completely_ inappropriate.

The Emperor leads her to the low dessert table, which is practically an altar to sugar – or to a pastry chef, perhaps. Hundreds of bite-size cakes, mochi, and other confections cover the surface. Clean plates are stacked at both ends for guests to serve themselves. He reaches for two plates and focuses on her again. “What would you like?” In the warm glow from the chandeliers, his eyes gleam soft amber as they look into hers.

Rukia suddenly thinks, _You_ , and flushes pink. “Ah – j-just a mochi and something chocolate,” she says, stammering a little, and her flush deepens at the way his lips quirk up in response.

“Is there something wrong, Lady Kuchiki?” he asks, a note of confusion in his voice as he reaches past her to place the requested sweets on a plate before offering it to her.

She takes a deep breath – it doesn’t help. This close, she catches a hint of his soap-and-something-delicious scent even over the baked goods, and Rukia feels her flush deepening and spreading over her chest. “I-I’m fine, Your Imperial Highness,” she manages while his eyes grow more concerned. “I’m just a little warm.”

He sets their plates down immediately and without so much as asking, ushers her away from the table and toward the back wall of the room, where three sets of doors open onto a long balcony. “Perhaps some air,” he suggests.

There are eyes on them again, but Rukia is more concerned with the layers of pink tulle coming towards them. Her fingertips tingle. The pretty blonde woman in front of them trips and Rukia shifts her weight even as the blonde begins to fall forward. Her trip sends a pastry and its dish flying as she falls towards the Emperor, flailing for him.

Rukia steps in front of the emperor and catches her, nearly getting a face full of the taller woman’s ample cleavage for her trouble. “Are you alright?” she asks when the blonde recoils from her. The plate shatters and the pastry lands on Rangiku’s breasts.

All conversation in the room dies; the mixture of flaky pastry and chocolate mousse falls onto the floor with a plop that is thunderous in the silence.

“Yes, yes, my thanks, Lady Kuchiki,” the other woman stammers and backs away quickly.

“This is my favorite dress!” Rangiku complains loudly.

The Emperor looks more bemused than anything as he calls for a servant to clean up the broken porcelain, and summons Hitsugaya with a look. “Will you escort Lady Matsumoto somewhere to change?” he asks.

Hitsugaya gives him an incredulous look and glances around the room, where no fewer than a dozen servants and at least five members of the women’s guard are stationed. “Your Imperial Highness?” he asks questioningly.

Rukia covers her mouth with one hand and winks at Rangiku. She doesn’t notice the pair of brown eyes watching her or the way a pair of lips quirk up into a smirk.

“Oh, yes, please, Advisor Hitsugaya, your assistance would be _most_ appreciated,” Rangiku purrs, and before Hitsugaya can do more than widen his eyes, she loops her arm through his and saunters off with the shorter man.

“Shall we, Lady Kuchiki?” the Emperor asks, and gestures at the balcony just ahead of them. “You said you were feeling warm.”

Suddenly shy again, Rukia allows him to lead her onwards. Servants bow and then push open the doors, and a cooling breeze reaches them. “Oh – this _is_ nice,” she murmurs. The sun has fully set, and the moon is rising in the sky; hanging lanterns illuminate the balcony in soft, warm yellow light.

“My rooms are on this side of the palace – it’s a beautiful view at night,” the Emperor explains as he leads her to a bench and offers a seat. There are a few other people on the other side of the balcony, far enough that their voices are barely audible, and so Rukia sits next to him and looks up into the night sky.

His sheathed sword sticks out from his robes and she raises an eyebrow at it. “I didn’t think the Emperor carried a sword,” Rukia says, a question in her voice.

“I’m not supposed to,” he admits. “But there have been two attempts on my life in the past week, and I feel more comfortable with Zangetsu on my hip.”

She just nods and changes the subject. “You’re spending an awful lot of time with me. I really shouldn’t monopolize you and keep you from your other… _guests_.”

But he just shrugs easily. “I like spending time with you, Rukia. And isn’t that the point of this prank of Hanatarou’s? Getting to know someone who might be my future empress?”

In the moonlight, Rukia blushes and clears her throat. “There are other, significantly better candidates for that role,” she points out.

His hand finds her chin again and gently turns her so that their eyes can meet. “I asked you not to belittle yourself just this morning,” he says in a low voice that _does things_ to her insides.

“Y-yes, your Imperial Highness,” Rukia murmurs.

“Ichigo.”

“W-what?”

He is so close to her in the darkness that his heat is practically enveloping her, and the cool air by contrast makes her shiver. “My name is Ichigo.”

 _He’s going to kiss me_ , she thinks as they draw closer, but instead he runs a gentle hand along her gauze-covered arm. “Ichigo,” Rukia murmurs, tasting the word in her mouth. She watches his eyes darken when she says it, and heat climbs into her cheeks.

But the doors open behind them, and he shifts smoothly to look up at the tall, dark-haired man who is already smiling in greeting as he bows to Ichigo. “Your Imperial Highness. I didn’t realize you would be out here.”

They are still close enough that Rukia can feel the way his body tenses next to her. “Lord Aizen.” Ichigo rises and brings Rukia with him; the bench is between them and this _Aizen_.

“I thought I’d get some fresh air – parties here at the palace can be so stifling,” the older man says smoothly. His gaze slides to Rukia. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your companion.”

She can feel Ichigo tense up further, but it doesn’t show in his voice as he says, “Forgive me. Lord Aizen, allow me to introduce Lady Rukia Kuchiki, of the Kuchiki clan. Lady Kuchiki, Lord Sosuke Aizen of the Aizen clan. Lord Aizen is a strong ally in northern Seireitei.”

Though it’s a little hard to do with the bench in front of her and the balcony railing behind, Rukia curtsies. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Aizen.” She can hear that her voice is a little higher than usual, Ichigo’s tension carrying over to her, but she just smiles benignly.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Kuchiki.” Aizen bows in return, and before she can stop him her hand is in his, dry lips brushing over her skin. “I was not aware that the Kuchiki clan had a daughter your age. Lord Kuchiki is quite young.”

Rukia glances up toward Ichigo. _He’ll understand what I mean now,_ she thinks, but says truthfully, “I am an adopted member of the clan. Lord Kuchiki has named me his sister.”

Aizen’s eyebrows raise slightly, but he lets her hand go and smiles. “Of course. How wonderful that he has enriched the clan with a sister.” His eyes meet hers and Rukia manages what she hopes is another bland smile.

“Yes, my brother is very kind.” She doesn’t have to fake the chill she feels suddenly, and when she shivers a second time, Ichigo transparently takes the opportunity to say, “Let’s get you back inside, Lady Kuchiki. It’s getting colder without the sun.”

Aizen bows out of the way, but his eyes follow them. Ichigo is pulled away from her by three clan heads who all want him to spend time with _their_ daughters, and ruefully he gives Rukia a nod as he allows himself to be led to a gaggle of women in pastel eveningwear.

“Rukia.” Her brother is standing beside her suddenly, and she turns and curtsies to him briefly.

“Lord Kuchiki,” she says formally. The words make his lips twitch ever so slightly. The room is starting to empty – some of the women are retiring for the evening, and members of the women’s guard follow. Lieutenant Arisawa is still in the room, standing at attention, and Rukia remembers the dagger in her pocket. She’s glad not to have needed it.

“You were on the balcony with his Imperial Highness?”

Rukia clears her throat and tries, unsuccessfully, to stop the flush of heat that fills her once more. “I was, yes.” A raised eyebrow is his only response, and she says very quietly, “The Emperor has given me leave to use his name.”

At that – Byakuya Kuchiki’s eyes widen before he can stop them. “I see.” Then he glances toward the Emperor. Rukia’s eyes follow him: Ichigo looks borderline _miserable_ , and even as they watch he shifts his weight and does – something – with his hand. None of the women with him seem to notice, but a moment later Junior Advisor Yamada hurries up to him. Ichigo seems to make his apologies before strolling after Yamada. “Yes, I see. Lady Inoue is right.”

At that non sequitur, Rukia blinks. “Ah – about?”

“I will need to fire your dressmaker.”

Rukia chokes on air in her effort not to laugh. “I did not realize that you spoke to Orihime,” she says instead.

“She is a unique young woman, but she is not wrong. Come, I’ll walk you back to your rooms,” Byakuya offers. Rukia obediently takes his arm. Arisawa peels herself off the wall and follows as they leave. When Byakuya raises his eyebrow again, Rukia pretends not to notice.


	8. Magic - and Choosing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uryuu and Orihime have a good morning.
> 
> Emperor Ichigo does not.

When the party is nearly over and all but a few of the women have left, Aizen sits quietly on the bench recently vacated by the Emperor and Lady Kuchiki and looks up at the night sky. After a time, another body settles next to him.

“You have been unsuccessful so far.” Aizen’s voice is quiet but sharp, though he keeps his eyes on the moon.

“He’s hard ta get to. That short girl – she smelled my Night’s Slippers. And ya saw what happened when ya tried a magic trap.”

“Unfortunate collateral damage,” Aizen dismisses, “Though I’m not so sure she smelled it, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I think she Saw it beforehand.” The words have a musing quality to them, burying a hint of greed.

“That magic’s just a myth,” the voice says dismissively.

Aizen smiles. “Oh, I don’t think so. I saw her do it tonight.”

“Well so what, then?”

“Our plans will have to be adjusted,” Aizen says calmly, eyes still on the moon above.

“That so?”

“Such a skill would be very useful.” Aizen rises from his bench. “Execute the next step tomorrow,” he orders, and walks back inside.

His companion looks up at the moon and smirks. He waits until ten minutes have passed, and then slips inside the empty ballroom.

* * *

The next morning, an early knock at the door reveals Lord Ishida again. With Orihime still fixing her hair, Rukia opens the door and drops a shallow curtsey. “Lord Ishida,” she greets.

Uryuu offers her a shallow bow in return. “Lady Kuchiki. Is Lady Inoue present? I was hoping to escort her on her morning walk.” There is a slight blush to his cheeks, and as Rukia looks him over she can’t resist a grin.

“Orihime is just fixing her hair,” Rukia tells him. “Wait here.” She leaves the door to their room open and taps on the washroom door instead. “Orihime? Lord Ishida is here.”

There is a clatter from the washroom and the door flings open; Orihime is in another dress, this one white as snow at her chest and fading to deep blue at the hem. Her hair is twisted up elaborately. Behind her, there is a pile of pins and bottles of hair potions that have fallen to the floor.

“Oh! Rukia, can you delay him? I need to clean up this mess and—”

Rukia tugs her from the washroom. “Orihime, I’ll take care of it. Go have your walk with _Lord Ishida_ ,” she orders, and grins.

“O-oh, alright. Thank you, Rukia!” Orihime calls and walks to the door. Uryuu is still waiting in the open doorway, and his eyes light up behind his glasses at the sight of her.

“Lady Inoue,” he greets, and offers her a shallow bow as well.

Orihime curtsies but admonishes him gently with, “I thought I asked you to call me Orihime.” She slides her arm through his when it’s offered and shuts the door behind her.

“So you did, Orihime,” Uryuu corrects himself, and the smile on his lips has a distinctively shy quality to it.

They stroll through the hallways slowly and then down the stairs to the open courtyard garden below. The garden is empty so early in the day, and the sun is still low enough in the sky that the courtyard is bright but not too sunny. “Lady Kuchiki’s gown was impeccable,” Uryuu compliments as they turn onto the stone path that cuts throw low beds of colorful flowers. “Your work was very well done.”

Orihime blushes and ducks her head a little. “Thank you, Uryuu. The trick you taught me to create silk gauze was wonderful. And Rukia looked beautiful,” she says. “The Emperor couldn’t keep his eyes off of her!”

He grins at that, and they pass a set of ornamental pine trees in elegantly trimmed shapes. “My cousin is quite taken with her, yes. But then, he’s like his father, may he be resting in the heavens.” At Orihime’s inquiring look, he explains, “The story _my_ father tells is that Emperor Isshin fell in love with Empress Masaki the first time they met. Even my father, who has as much use for _love_ as a cat has for a dog, swears they were meant for each other.”

Orihime’s smile is a little tremulous. “Everyone here will keep them safe, won’t they, Uryuu?” she asks suddenly.

Uryuu pats her hand gently where it rests on his arm. “The guards and advisors will all do their best, and so will I. But why do you ask?”

Her teeth bite her lower lip. “Lieutenant Arisawa said yesterday that there was an _incident_. Lady Murata and Lady Hoga were both missing during last night’s supper. And there were fewer women at breakfast this morning.”

“Ah.” There is a wealth of meaning in the single-syllable sound, and Uryuu looks up at the sky for a long moment before answering. “I promise, Orihime, we will all do everything in our power to keep his Imperial Highness and Lady Kuchiki safe.”

Orihime beams at him then and leans her head against his shoulder as they walk. “Thank you, Uryuu. Now, will you teach me the technique you mentioned yesterday on repairing fabric? I’ve never been able to master it and it seems so _useful_ , and so much better than patching or having to discard a dress.”

Uryuu gestures toward a bench and pulls a small box from the pocket of his robes before they sit. “I’m sure you can learn this one. Let me show you.” He rips a hole in the fabric of his own robe and then opens the box. After selecting a fairly large needle, he brushes the fabric so that it lies flat. “What you must concentrate on is convincing the broken threads that they _want_ to be together again.”

As Orihime watches, he draws the needle along the circumference of the tear. Frayed fabric jumps to life and the threads wiggle beneath his needle. “Oh!” she says with a gasp. Uryuu gestures once, twice, in a specific pattern, and the threads begin to seek one another out and meld together. In a moment, the fabric is whole and unblemished. “Show me again?” she asks.

He repeats the process with another tear, and then offers the needle to Orihime. “Go ahead and try. The technique taught to most fiber crafts practitioners is unnecessarily difficult.” He tears a third hole in his robes when Orihime takes the offered sewing tool.

Orihime’s first attempt fails, but on the second only a few frayed threads remain to show that there was a rip the size of an egg in Uryuu’s clothes. “This is _so_ much better!” she exclaims. “Where did you learn how to use this method? My tutor despaired of my ever mastering the skill.”

“I invented it.” Uryuu’s cheeks flood with pink as Orihime’s mouth drops open. “I didn’t like the way the conventional technique makes the fabric feel.” He takes the needle back and sets it in the box once again.

“ _Invented_ it? That’s _amazing_ , Uryuu!”

Orihime’s enthusiasm is infectious: Uryuu’s lips curve in a smile and he puts the box away. “I’ve invented a few techniques,” he admits modestly. “The gauze method I taught you is another. But your expertise with it is incredible – I can’t believe how quickly you put it into practice.”

“Only because you’re a good teacher,” she retorts. “And I’m so glad you are. You should have seen what Lady Kuchiki brought with her.”

Uryuu lets out an ungentlemanly snort. “His Imperial Highness wouldn’t have cared if she wore sackcloth to supper.” Then he reaches over and slides his hand around hers. “Lady Inoue,” he begins.

“ _Orihime_ ,” she reminds in turn.

“ _Orihime_. I’ve…very much enjoyed getting to know you these past few days. And it’s been my pleasure to help you refine your skills. But…” His cheeks flush again and Uryuu nervously clears his throat before meeting her pale eyes with his. “I would rather not be your teacher.”

Her face crumples and her cheeks pale before she can smooth her expression. Orihime ducks her head. “Of course, I understand, Uryuu. It has been wonderful to learn from you.” Her hand begins to tug away from his even as Uryuu realizes his mistake.

“That’s – that’s not what I meant!” he blurts out. Nervously, his free hand touches her cheek. “I mean that I don’t _just_ want to be your teacher. I’d like to court you, Orihime, if you’ll allow it.”

The words bring the blush back to Orihime’s cheeks, and she meets his eyes again. “Oh!” Her lips curve in a shy smile and she says, “I’d like that very much.” Then, before Uryuu can say anything else, she leans in and her lips touch his chastely.

His lips are just as gentle against hers, and when they pull away Uryuu is grinning. His hand squeezes hers. “I’ll speak with my father so that he can make arrangements with your aunt and uncle,” he says in a rush. Then he looks at her significantly. “Will they be…disappointed that I’m not the Emperor?”

Orihime’s lips purse to stifle a laugh, and she leans her forehead against his. “No, I think they will be pleased enough that a talented magician and the cousin of the Emperor is asking for a formal courtship.”

Uryuu’s answering smile draws them into another kiss, and they sit in companionable silence for a time, her head leaning against his shoulder and their hands twined together.

* * *

Across the palace, Ichigo is having a less successful morning. There is a chattering young woman in a sickly green dress across from him sipping tea into which at least two teaspoons of sugar too many have been poured. Her hair is bound up in an elaborate style that seems to involve the feathers of an entire bird.

“And after my training at the Young Ladies’ Institute for the Material Arts, I completed a tapestry for my lord father’s manor depicting the Myth of the Spring Princess. Everyone who sees it says that it’s the most beautiful tapestry they’ve ever seen, your Imperial Highness. They say it’s even more beautiful than the tapestries that hang in the galleries here that show the history of the Empire,” she explains with a demure smile.

Ichigo’s eyebrow twitches and he covers his scowl with a sip from his own cup of tea. “The tapestries you are referring to were made by my mother the late Empress,” he says as calmly as he can manage.

Miss Komatsu blanches and sets her teacup down carefully. “My apologies, your Imperial Highness. I meant no disrespect,” she says hurriedly. “It is just something that people _say_. And the Spring Princess is such a – a well-known myth.”

Ichigo nods, once, and takes another sip of tea. “I am sure you did not mean to disrespect my mother,” he assures her. “It is unfortunate that you _did_ mean to start a rumor about my cousin and Lady Kuchiki last night, however.”

The brunette before him turns milk-pale. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” she says slowly.

“Hn.” Ichigo’s expression sharpens, eyes darkening as he explains, “Your father, and several other concerned fathers, told me last night that Lady Kuchiki was, and I quote, “seen having a dalliance with Lord Ishida.” They expressed their concern that such a thing was _unconscionable_.”

“Well of course it would be,” Miss Komatsu says, lips curved. “You are the Emperor. It would be completely inappropriate for Kuchiki to lead you on while she carries on with an advisor’s son.”

He sets his teacup down and the look in his eyes has the woman flinching away from him. “Lord Ishida is my cousin, and he spoke to _Lady_ Kuchiki at my request. Oddly, someone attempted to push her down the stairs following that conversation.”

Miss Komatsu’s cheeks are milk-pale again. “I’m – sure that I don’t know anything about such a horrid act,” she protests.

Ichigo’s face is set in a scowl, and his words are even sharper as he explains, “This is the Emperor’s palace, Miss Komatsu. Did you really think that you wouldn’t be _seen_ running around in bright yellow?” Fire flickers on the back of one hand where it is pressed against the table, and the tablecloth smolders. “I have asked your father to take you home, Miss Komatsu. And you will not return to the palace while I am Emperor.”

He stands, nearly upsetting the table in his haste, and watches as she scrambles to her feet. Ichigo glances over at Hitsugaya, who steps forward and calmly douses the burning fabric with an ice-cold palm. “See that Miss Komatsu is escorted to her father’s rooms and that the Komatsu family is safely escorted to the borders of the capital.”

“Yes, your Imperial Highness,” Hitsugaya responds, and his cerulean eyes focus on the woman. “It will be done immediately.”

The brunette is gaping like a fish as Ichigo nods to her once and leaves the table, one hand resting on the hilt of Zangetsu. He turns back at the doorway and looks at her. “Oh, and Miss Komatsu,” he says, and the woman looks at him. “My grandfather would have had your tongue removed for spreading rumors about his family, and your hand with it for assaulting a noblewoman.” 

Ichigo lets the door shut behind him. Lady Shihouin is grinning at him as she leans against the wall opposite. “Lady Shihouin.”

She bows, but the impish expression on her face is undiminished. “Your Imperial Highness. I take it our gossip has been dealt with?” At the stony expression on his face, Lady Shihouin smirks. “It’s unusual for the Emperor to deal with such a petty matter himself.”

His hand touches Zangetsu’s hilt again, and Ichigo scowls. “She spread rumors about Ishida and attacked Ruk—Lady Kuchiki. That isn’t _petty_ ,” he growls.

Lady Shihouin pushes off from the wall. “Of course not, Sir. I’ll just make sure the Komatsu leaves the capital _safely_ , shall I? Telling her that Emperor Isao would have maimed her was a nice touch.” There is a touch of sarcasm in her tone.

Ichigo just makes a face of disgust and stalks away from her as well, ignoring the guards that fall into place behind him. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the palace temple. Two of the guards stop by the red gateway while two more cleanse their hands and mouths before stepping into the shrine proper. As Ichigo cleanses his own hands and mouth he can see them making a sweep of the shrine.

The taller of the two nods to him solemnly, and Ichigo manages one in return before he steps inside and allows the door to shut behind him. He drops into a bench at the front of the space and lets his head fall into his hands as the weight of the shrine’s magic washes over him. It is a calming force, one that steadies the sudden shaking of his hands and the rocking of his legs.

“What in the _hell_ is going on?” Ichigo finally whispers when he has taken several deep breaths. There is a lingering scent of incense on the air; something light and almost floral that further slows his heartrate.

_I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be Emperor_. “Why the hell did father have to die so soon?” he growls under his breath, the sound muffled by his hands.

_A woman died in my home because someone wanted to kill **me**. _

_Rukia was almost poisoned. She **was** attacked because that petty woman though she could frighten off her competition. _The thought makes Ichigo’s blood boil, but his cheeks flush with shame at the memory of threatening the Komatsu woman and losing his temper.

_And Aizen – who the hell even knows what he wants? And there are still women running all over the palace as though my_ marriage _is important when the whole Empire could be at risk._

His head lifts at a tug: the shrine proper is glowing again, though not nearly as brightly as when he was anointed. Ichigo stands and makes his way to the glowing statue. One hand touches it and the statue gleams brilliantly. Calm washes over him again.

“Your Imperial Highness.” Advisor Kyouraku’s voice startles Ichigo and he pulls his hand from the shrine, whipping around to see his advisor bowing.

“Kyouraku,” Ichigo acknowledges. “Do you need something?”

The expression on the older man’s face is soft, but there are lines of tension in it and Ichigo thinks he can see grief in his eyes despite the dimness of the temple. “Actually, something told me that I should come here this morning,” Kyouraku explains. He gestures back at the bench. “Will you sit with me for a minute, Sir?”

Ichigo’s brow furrows in confusion but he sits next to Kyouraku on the same bench. They are both silent for a time; Kyouraku’s legs are spread wide, elbows leaning on his thighs. The heavy, black silk robe he wears hangs loosely around him. Finally, he says, “Well?”

“Just like your father,” Kyouraku says with a chuckle. “He was impatient too.” He sobers and looks at Ichigo, dark eyes focusing on him. “The Emperor’s burden is sitting heavy on you, Highness. It’s a hard thing to carry.”

The younger man scowls and rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about that,” Ichigo says, and glances back toward the shrine.

“It’s your advisors’ responsibility to help you carry it, Highness. Especially when you’re grieving.” At Ichigo’s shocked look, Kyouraku nods solemnly. “Hitsugaya and Yoruichi told me what you said to Miss Komatsu. Not your usual style, banishing people from the palace and implying that you’d like to take their hand off.”

“She tried to hurt someone under my protection,” Ichigo growls out. The expression on his face is fierce, and before he can stop it a flicker of fire forms in his hand. He looks down and snuffs it out with a gesture. His cheeks flush again with shame.

“Lady Kuchiki, I heard. She’s tougher than you give her credit for, I think. Members of the elite women’s guard usually are.” The expression on Ichigo’s face is one of horror, but Kyouraku just waves a hand. “Yoruichi told me.”

“I promised not to tell anyone,” Ichigo grumbles. “She’s terrified her brother will find out – don’t ask me why.”

“The adoption wasn’t without scandal,” Kyouraku says in agreement. “Lord Kuchiki’s elders wanted nothing to do with her, said she was an unrefined street brat.” He snorts.

“Who cares if she’s adopted?” Ichigo’s hands clench on his lap. “She’s kind and as refined as any noble – and beautiful.”

“And you’re _just_ like your father,” Kyouraku says with a laugh. “Isshin had the same expression on his face when he defended Masaki. Wouldn’t hear a word against her and thought she hung the stars in the sky. Blushed just like that, too.” When Ichigo grunts in annoyance, Kyouraku adds, “The rumors were right, though.”

“What rumors?”

There is a sadness to Kyouraku’s words as he says, “Isshin and Masaki were soulmates. He would have followed her when she died, I think, except that he was the Emperor, and you and your sisters were so young.”

Ichigo frowns and looks down at his clenched hands. “A lot of people said that. Is it some kind of magic? That you find your soulmate and your life is tied to theirs?”

“Ah, nothing so easy to explain as that,” Kyouraku says, and pats Ichigo on the shoulder. “No one knows what it is, really, only that some people seem to connect instantly and live their lives together from that moment forward. Some people find one another and choose each other, over and over again.”

“Like you and Ukitake,” Ichigo guesses. The older man grins in response.

“Yeah. We chose each other thirty years ago, and keep choosing each other,” he agrees. “I’m a lucky man.” Kyouraku stands with a short groan and offers his hand to Ichigo, who hauls himself up. “We’ll find a path through all of this, Highness. The guards and your advisors and ministers – we’re here to keep the Empire safe. We’ll figure out who killed the Murata girl and why they’re targeting you. And we’ll keep your Rukia safe too.”

“She’s not _my_ Rukia,” Ichigo grumbles.

Kyouraku just grins and walks ahead of him toward the temple entrance. “Isshin said that too about Masaki, for about two days.”

Ichigo huffs and follows, but his heart is a little lighter.


	9. In the Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia plays hanetsuki with Yuzu and Karin. Truths come out - and so does her blue fire.

Rukia shouldn’t be surprised that the princesses have gotten wind of Ichigo’s apparent _regard_ , as a messenger calls it when she knocks on Rukia’s door.

 _Please join us for hanetsuki in the gardens_ , the note reads.

She dresses in a pale blue frock that Orihime has helpfully adjusted so that the fabric won’t tangle around her legs and tucks the dagger from Lieutenant Arisawa into another thick, narrow pocket. The hem of her dress is banded with strips of dark gray embroidery – a continued nod to the deceased Emperor Isshin.

Arisawa is waiting for her outside the door, and she nods approvingly before walking alongside Rukia in silence through the winding hallways and down the stairs, then out to the gardens.

“I’ll be nearby,” is all she says when they reach the area of the garden where Crown Princess Karin and Princess Yuzu are waiting for her. There is a small table with brightly colored paddles and a set of shuttlecocks that are just as bright. The two princesses wear near-matching black dresses more modest than hers, but they look cheerful enough.

Rukia bows when Karin and Yuzu see her, but instead of a formal greeting she is practically tackled by Yuzu.

“Rukia! It _is_ you,” Yuzu exclaims happily as she hugs the older woman. Even at sixteen she is taller than Rukia, whose head only comes to the girl’s chin.

“You – you remember me?” she asks when Yuzu lets go.

Yuzu grins down at her as Karin reaches them and wraps her arms around Rukia as well. “Of course we do. You were with us for _years_.”

“And you saved _my_ life,” Karin reminds. She is more serious than her sister, and when she steps away there is a small frown on her face. “Where did you go?”

Rukia takes a deep breath and smiles up at the twins. “It’s a bit of a story, your highnesses. But why don’t we play hanetsuki for a while?”

Yuzu and Karin exchange a look, but readily enough they pick up the paddles. The one Yuzu hands to Rukia is decorated with paintings of white lilies. They play for a while, hitting a shuttlecock with red feathers back and forth between the three of them; in deference to the younger girls’ status as princesses they do not mark their faces with ink when the shuttle drops, but keep score on their inner arms. Soon the garden is filled with giggles and high-pitched cheers whenever one of the trio makes a particularly good save.

“You _like_ our brother,” Yuzu says after a while, and Rukia misses with her paddle. The shuttlecock drops into a divot in the grass, and Rukia delays her answer under the auspices of getting it.

“I admire the Emperor,” Rukia says carefully, and sends the shuttle flying toward Karin.

“Rukiaaaaa,” Yuzu whines suddenly, and the noblewoman can’t help but laugh.

The shuttle comes at her again and Rukia manages to hit it back to Yuzu. “We…have not reached an understanding. But I think we could,” she chooses to say as the shuttle flies around between them.

Karin is smirking as she hits the shuttle toward her sister. “That sounds so _bloodless_.”

Rukia’s cheeks flush pink, and Yuzu lets out a little cheer. “She’s _blushing_ , Karin. I don’t think it’s bloodless at all.”

Rukia waves her hands. “Ah, well. We haven’t actually had a chance to _talk_ about it,” she says.

When they have tired of playing hanetsuki, they sit in the garden sipping cold juice and nibbling on little finger sandwiches brought by a servant. The cool air feels soothing on skin warmed by their game, and Rukia closes her eyes for a moment to savor the breeze.

“Will you tell us why you left the guard now?” Yuzu asks. She is fanning herself with a paddle, and no wonder – the fabric of her dress looks heavy.

Rukia sets down her drink and smiles gently. “Something went wrong with my magic,” she says quietly. “Just after the Adachi incident.” Karin shifts uneasily in her chair as Rukia continues, “My defensive abilities stopped working altogether, and my offensive magic became…erratic.”

Yuzu has one hand in front of her mouth, but she finally says, “But…couldn’t you have sought treatment?”

“Ah…There was such _risk_ , then, I worried about being a liability,” Rukia murmurs. “Lord Kuchiki found me a few months after I left the guard. After two years my magic stabilized, but by then I had been gone from the guard for two years and I was a noblewoman.”

She does not say: _I could not admit weakness_. Or: _I started to hear voices and see things and thought I was going crazy._

“We’re glad you’re back,” Karin says, and sips her juice. “And maybe it’s for the best – after all, now you might be our _sister_.”

Rukia’s cheeks turn pink again as they both grin at her, and she closes her eyes to savor the feeling of _belonging._

It’s why she hears the darts before she sees them. Rukia shoves Karin down first, under the table, as the first one flies through the air where Karin’s head had been. She incinerates the second with a flare of fire from her fingertips. “Yuzu, under the table,” she orders. Battle magic follows the darts from three directions and Rukia draws a shield of light with her fingertips.

“Guards! We’re under attack!” Rukia shouts. Lieutenant Arisawa comes barreling around a corner and draws her sword while in her left hand, fire kindles out of the very air.

Rukia blocks the first and second flares of magic fire, but a bolt of light finds Yuzu even as she is sliding from her chair to follow Rukia’s orders, and the princess screams in pain and collapses. “ _Yuzu!”_ Rukia shouts. Her voice carries and three of the women’s guard turn up from around hedges and ornamental trees, drawing their own shields of light as more destructive magic flares toward their location.

“Healing magic?” she asks, and one of the women nods and slides under the table with Karin and Yuzu, who is holding her shoulder and crying with pain.

 _Where is it coming from?_ Rukia asks, and when the next bolt of magic comes, she traces it with her mind. “ _There_ ,” she says, and points with one finger. Blue fire slithers like a living thing from her finger and shoots through the air; an answering scream tells her that her aim was true.

“The princess needs more help than my skill can provide,” the guard beneath the table announces calmly.

“Stabilize her until we neutralize the threat,” Arisawa orders. “Fujita, call for reinforcements. Kuchiki?”

Rukia focuses again and her finger points; fire shoots from Arisawa’s finger and there is another scream of pain. “We need to make sure they’re down,” she growls.

Fujita – one of the other guards – puts a hand to her temple and then shakes her head. “Something is blocking me,” she says and looks at the lieutenant with wide, scared eyes. Rukia is young, but this guard looks _impossibly_ young, barely out of training.

More fire comes at them, along with another dart, and Rukia incinerates it. Her finger swings again. Arisawa’s fire follows, and the third attacker screams. “Try again,” she orders.

Fujita closes her eyes and puts both hands to her temples – but after a moment her nose begins to bleed, and she shakes her head regretfully. “It’s too strong,” she says, and grimaces as she wipes the blood from beneath her nose.

Rukia exchanges a look with Arisawa. “We’re not _so_ far from the palace doors. If you can carry Princess Yuzu, we can shield you and the Crown Princess,” she suggests.

“That would leave you unshielded,” the lieutenant points out.

“I can make a big enough shield. The princess needs medical attention,” Rukia argues. “And I can’t find the mind mage, their magic isn’t concentrated enough.” She tries again anyway but her senses slip and slide, catching on nothing.

“Fine.” Still under shield, Arisawa helps Karin to her feet and then with help from the guard who tried to heal her, lifts Yuzu into her arms. The girl groans softly in pain. “Princess, we’re going to run for the palace doors. Keep low. Kuchiki, Fujita, Endo, shields. Kuchiki, you remember how to make your shield curve?”

Rukia just nods.

“I can shield too,” Karin protests.

“Fine. Shields up,” Arisawa orders. Immediately, transparent shields come up, enveloping the seven women in layers of white and golden light. “Back to the palace, _now_.”

They make a controlled run for it, pacing themselves to keep together. For a short distance they are unchallenged, and they are within sight of the palace doors when Rukia feels magic again suddenly and turns, taking the brunt of it against her shield. “ _Go_ ,” she orders as her shield takes a second hit, a splash of sickly red power that makes her body shake.

Arisawa shoves Yuzu into Karin’s arms. “Shields up. Inside, now. Call for reinforcements.” Her shield comes up to reinforce Rukia’s. “Point, Kuchiki.”

Rukia focuses and her arm swings up again. “There.” Fire follows from them both and blasts a hole through the hedges. There is no answering scream, and they exchange a look even as they back toward the palace.

The same red power washes against Rukia’s shield. She lets it drop in favor of sending her blue fire forward. It hits, this time, by the sound of agony that follows, but another bolt strikes her unguarded left side and Rukia grunts in pain as blood quickly turns her pale dress bright red. She brings up her shield again and breathes slowly. “I’m going to try and find them again,” she says, as Arisawa looks at her in concern.

“Can you still maintain your shield while you do?”

Rukia shakes her head, and Arisawa focuses, allowing hers to expand to cover them both. “Try to do it fast, I can’t maintain something this big for long. Damn mind mage – we need the guard here, _now_.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t come running given the screams and the fire,” Rukia hisses.

“The gardens have dampening spells on them,” Arisawa says. “Find them, Kuchiki.”

She reaches out, looking for them. Two men are down – dead, through her blue fire. One more is incapacitated. Two are not. “Two dead. One down. Two more, there and there.” She points, and blue fire slithers, twice. One hits, the other doesn’t.

 _Finally_ , there are shouts behind them and guards – both the royal guard and the women’s guard – surround them and reinforce their shields. “One more known attacker,” Arisawa barks. “Four down, two of them are dead. There’s a mind mage, status unknown. Get Lady Kuchiki to the palace, she’s wounded. The rest of you, sweep the gardens. Find the mind mage and disable them.”

Rukia protests, but there’s more blood than she expected, and she sways a little on her feet. Two of the guards – she doesn’t recognize either of them – bring her inside at a run. When they are in the palace and the doors have shut, one of the guards leans down and rips a long strip from the hem of Rukia’s skirt to bandage her side.

“Sorry,” she says when Rukia grunts in pain. “Neither of us have healing magic. Come on, let’s get you to the healers. Can you still walk, Lady Kuchiki?”

“Yes, if it’s not far.” Rukia can feel her body shaking but she stands as straight as she can.

They make a strange sight: a petite woman in a bloodied and ripped dress and two guards, one of them in the royal guard uniform and half again as tall as she is. Fortunately, the healer’s halls are not so far, and soon enough Rukia is escorted through double-height doors into the calmest, _warmest_ part of the palace.

Karin and Yuzu are already there – and so is Ichigo. He stands from his seat at Yuzu’s bedside when she enters. “Lady Kuchiki,” he gets out, eyes wide, and Rukia tries to bow before she sways on her feet again. She wants to cry, suddenly, but she just breathes deeply and pushes that down.

“Best not,” the royal guard beside her says, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Lady Kuchiki needs a healer,” he says, more loudly, and a young woman with short blonde hair scurries out from behind a privacy screen.

“Ah! Please, Lady Kuchiki, come sit and we’ll see to you right away,” she says. Rukia swallows hard, to push down nausea, as she follows but manages to sit down on the bed where the healer directs her. She lies silent and still as the young healer removes the makeshift bandage and examines her. “This wound was made by magic,” she says, as she begins to cut away Rukia’s dress.

“It was,” Rukia acknowledges. She grits her teeth when her wound is bathed; the adrenaline in her body is starting to fade, and with its departure the pain digs into her sharply. “It was – the same attackers who hurt Princess Yuzu.”

“Lie still, please.”

When the wound begins to knit together and the pain recedes to a duller ache, Rukia wants to sob with relief, but again she just breathes slowly.

“I’ll get you something to change into after I bandage you,” the healer says, and hurries away again. She returns a moment later and helps Rukia out of her ruined dress. She bandages the wound – lessened in severity but not fully healed – carefully, and then helps Rukia put on a long, plain shift dress that is rather too big for her.

“I’ll give you something longer-lasting for the pain and we’ll keep you here for the day, but then you’ll be free to leave,” the healer says. She bundles the dress and soiled cloths into a basin and steps around the curtain.

“I want to see her.” Ichigo’s voice is muffled by the privacy screen and its embedded magics.

“O-oh, your Imperial Highness, the Lady Kuchiki isn’t…”

“It’s fine,” Rukia calls softly.

But when Ichigo steps around the screen, dark-eyed and clad in yet more black, Rukia just wants to cry. “How is Princess Yuzu?” she asks instead.

“She’ll recover,” he says quietly. “Her arm was badly burned but the healers are confident that they can fully repair the damage, and they are keeping her pain under control in the meantime.”

She nods shortly and struggles from the bed to stand and bows low to him. Pain shoots through her but she still gets out, “I am very sorry, your Imperial Highness.”

His hands find her shoulders and he gently – so gently – pushes her back upright. “Why are you sorry?” His voice is puzzled. “Karin and Yuzu said that you saved their lives.”

Tears are trickling from the corner of one eye despite her efforts to stop them, and Rukia reaches up impatiently to wipe them away. “I couldn’t keep Princess Yuzu from getting hurt. And they were outside because of _me_ – they invited me to play hanetsuki.”

His thumb finds more of her tears and gently brushes them away. “You need to sit down,” he says, and gently – so gently Rukia shakes with it – lifts her back onto the bed. “Tell me what happened, Rukia.”

She does, breathing slowly as she tells him about the unexpected attack, about rushing Karin and Yuzu back to the palace, about holding the field with Arisawa when more attacks come. Ichigo’s expression darkens the more she speaks, and his hands – resting to either side of her on the bed – are clenched into fists.

“So you kept my sisters from being killed and kept the entrance to the palace guarded until more help could arrive, even though you haven’t been a guard in years. And you were injured doing so,” Ichigo summarizes, a low growl in his voice. “Why are you sorry?”

More tears come unbidden, and again he reaches up to brush them away. “I couldn’t keep the princess from getting hurt,” Rukia insists. “And carelessly thinking we could enjoy a game nearly got both of your sisters killed.”

Ichigo’s eyes are soft as he looks at her, and he cups her face in his hands and touches his forehead to hers. “If we’re blaming ourselves for the actions of others, then it’s my fault that you were here to nearly get poisoned and then hurt today,” he points out.

“It was my choice to present myself as a candidate, however inadequate,” Rukia murmurs. She doesn’t expect the little growl that leaves his lips and vibrates against her.

“I’ve told you twice not to insult yourself, and I _don’t_ like having my orders disobeyed,” he tells her, and the low, rough tone of his voice sends a hot jolt through her body. Before she can say anything, he lifts his head and covers her mouth with his.

A shocked noise squeaks out of Rukia’s mouth but her eyes flutter shut, and her lips move against his in turn. One arm – the one on her good side – comes up and drapes around the back of his neck to pull him closer.

They kiss until they are both breathless, and Rukia is shivering all over when Ichigo finally lifts his mouth from hers. “Are we clear?” he asks, though he is shaking a little too, and his hand is gently stroking up and down her arm.

“Ye-yes, your Imperial Highness,” Rukia whispers.

“Ichigo.”

Her cheeks are hot again, and she corrects herself, “Yes, Ichigo.” The answering curve of his lips makes her want to kiss him again.

The healer comes back around the corner then, and nearly drops the small cup in her hand. “O-oh, your Imperial Highness,” she stammers and bows. “I was just bringing pain medication for Lady Kuchiki.” She holds out the cup and Ichigo straightens up to take it with a nod.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll let Lady Kuchiki get some rest.” The healer squeaks and hurries away as Ichigo passes the cup to Rukia. “You do need to rest,” he says when they are alone again.

She sniffs the liquid in the cup and makes a face, but her side is throbbing and so Rukia drinks it in one gulp. The taste is even worse than the smell, and she nearly gags. “This is _awful_ ,” she complains, swallowing a few times to try and keep the potion down.

“I’ll get you some water,” Ichigo says, and touches his lips to her forehead.

When he returns a minute later with another cup, Rukia sips the cold water inside quickly, to get the sour taste out of her mouth. “The fact that you kissed me is going to be known throughout the palace by nightfall, you know,” she says as he watches her.

“Healers take an oath of confidentiality,” Ichigo says easily. When Rukia just gives him a skeptical look, he adds, “Would it be so bad?”

“You still have all those other women to consider. Not that you’ve spent any time doing that,” Rukia points out.

Ichigo just raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you asking me to spend time with other women?”

She can feel her cheeks heating again. “No! But isn’t showing me such _obvious_ favor a problem?”

He just lifts his hand and uses his fingertips to push a lock of hair behind her ear. “A problem for whom?” Ichigo asks calmly.

“For you – I’m _adopted_ and mmph…” Rukia’s voice is cut off as he kisses her again, and she can’t help the sound she makes in the back of her throat as his lips slant over hers.

“Rukia,” Ichigo murmurs into her mouth, and the sound of her voice said _that_ way sends another jolt of heat through her. “If you don’t want my attentions, say so. But I won’t ask you again not to speak badly about yourself.”

“What—what will you do if I do?” she asks, and her voice sounds breathless to her own ears.

A low, considering noise rumbles through Ichigo’s throat and he nips her lip lightly. “That depends. Do you _want_ my attentions, Rukia?” he says, and pulls back to look into her eyes.

Rukia’s right hand comes up to rest on his cheek, and though she can feel herself blushing again, she says, “Yes, yes I would very much like your _attentions_.”

“Then, _my_ Lady Kuchiki,” Ichigo murmurs, and Rukia shivers at the sudden possessiveness in his tone, “If you insult yourself again in my hearing, I will have to take matters into my own hands.”

Her mouth feels dry, suddenly, and she doesn’t expect the way his words make pleasure slither through her again. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she says.

His mouth covers hers again and when he pulls back, they are both flushed, with lips kiss-swollen. “Perhaps I’ll show you, when you are fully recovered. For now though, you need to rest. And I need to tell Yamada to send everyone but Lady Inoue home. And Lady Matsumoto, perhaps.”

“Orihime and Rangiku?” Rukia asks, and sways as the soporific effects of the pain potion begin to take hold.

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt Lord Ishida’s courting of her, do I?” Ichigo asks lightly as he helps her lie down. “And Lady Matsumoto is entertaining.” He grins when Rukia laughs, and then bends down to press yet another kiss to her lips. “Rest, my lady.”

Rukia flushes pink and murmurs, as she drifts into unconsciousness, “It’s just Rukia.”

She doesn’t see the way he grins.


	10. Fire in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo makes decisions and vents his anger. Lord Kuchiki arrives at the palace and receives some shocking information.

Ichigo strides from behind the privacy screen around Rukia’s bed and stops at the sight of Karin and Yuzu both grinning at him. It only takes one look at Yuzu, whose arm is wrapped with bandages, and the knowledge of Rukia unconscious behind him, to reignite the rage inside of him.

He pushes it down and clenches his hand around the fire that wants to form there. “Yes?” he asks a little sharply, and wonders how much of the conversation they heard. The privacy screens are supposed to dampen sound, but he knows the magic is easily compromised given how much they are moved around.

“Do you and Lady Kuchiki have an understanding now?” Karin asks from her chair beside Yuzu’s bed.

The question punctures his rage, and Ichigo can’t stop the little smile that comes to his lips. “It’s not _formal_ ,” he prevaricates.

Yuzu rolls her eyes. “Does that mean we still have to have all these other women running around the palace?” She scowls at him when he laughs reluctantly. “Don’t laugh at me, I’ve been injured!”

Ichigo sobers up immediately and steps closer to gently ruffle Yuzu’s hair. “I’m not laughing _at_ you. I agree, it’s time to stop pretending that I want to have an understanding – as you put it, Karin – with anyone except Rukia.”

Footsteps echo through the large room again and Ichigo straightens up at the sight of Hitsugaya running into the room, Lady Shihouin and Junior Advisor Yamada behind him. “Highness! We heard about the attack. Are the princesses alright?”

“Yuzu was injured but she will recover,” Ichigo says, but his eyebrow raises as Hitsugaya barely avoids _pushing_ him to get to Karin. They don’t touch, but there is something soft in his younger sister’s expression as she looks at him.

“You aren’t injured, Crown Princess Karin?” the cerulean-eyed advisor asks quietly. “The report from your guards was brief.”

“I’m fine, Advisor Hitsugaya,” Karin says formally, but Ichigo catches the furtive look she casts in his direction, and he scowls.

“Lady Shihouin, do we know who did this? Lady Kuchiki told me what happened before she passed out.” Ichigo’s scowl deepens. “I want to know who attacked my sisters and my—and Lady Kuchiki.”

Shihouin’s lips are set in a thin line, and every muscle in her slender body looks tense. “Lady Kuchiki and Lieutenant Arisawa killed all but two of the attackers. My people are interrogating the one we caught. Arisawa said there was a mind mage involved, but we haven’t found him. What did Lady Kuchiki tell you?” Her lips quirk suddenly, and Ichigo can hear the pride in her voice when she says, “Arisawa said she was damn good out there, and killed more than half the intruders herself.”

Ichigo can’t resist the similar feeling of pride that thrums through him despite his anger. “Well. You did train her,” he points out. He summarizes Rukia’s story briefly, leaving out the part where she blamed herself and he kissed her. The memory still makes his cheeks flush slightly. “I want this mind mage found. Coordinate with Ishida. Have the dampening spells on the gardens taken down – I won’t have anyone else put at risk just so that they don’t have to hear _noise_ ,” he orders.

Hitsugaya and his sister are still looking at one another, and Ichigo snaps, “And _what_ are you doing staring at my sister?”

Karin just rolls her eyes. “Calm _down_ , Ichigo. Yuzu and Rukia will both be fine. There’s no reason to snap like a wounded animal.”

But Hitsugaya bows and says, “I am sorry, your Imperial Highness. It was inappropriate of me to show such…regard for the Crown Princess.”

Karin rolls her eyes again and glares at Ichigo when he huffs.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Ichigo decides, and turns his attention back to Shihouin. “I want this mage found, and guards here in the healing halls until both Yuzu and Rukia are released by the healers. Assign a guard to Rukia at all times.”

Yoruichi smirks. “I’ve already assigned Lieutenant Arisawa to Lady Kuchiki. She’ll be in safe hands, now that Arisawa no longer has a…” She glances at the princesses. “Any doubts about Kuchiki’s skills. We’ll take care of it, your Imperial Highness.”

Ichigo nods briefly and turns to Yamada. “This matchmaking farce,” he says, and Junior Advisor Yamada hides his expression behind the papers in his hands.

“Yes, Sir?”

“It’s done. Start arranging for the other women and their families to leave the palace.”

“But, Sir, didn’t we say that doing so would be a…” Yamada lowers his voice, “a show of weakness?”

Ichigo grunts. “The next attack could be on them,” he says. His eyes dart once more toward the privacy screen hiding Rukia from him. “Send everyone but Lady Kuchiki, Lady Inoue, and Lady Matsumoto home.” At that, Yamada brightens and scribbles something on the paperwork in his hand.

“ _Matsumoto?_ ” Hitsugaya blurts out.

Ichigo smirks at him. “She’s entertaining, and friendly with Lady Inoue and Lady Kuchiki.”

Yamada bows in agreement. “Yes, Sir. I’ll arrange for alternate quarters as well. Perhaps Lady Inoue and Lady Matsumoto can be moved nearer to the princesses, so that the women’s guard isn’t as spread out.” He glances up at Ichigo and scribbles on his paperwork again.

Yoruichi nods her thanks. “We were spread thin with a guard assigned to nearly every one of your _brides_.” She just smirks again when Ichigo glares at her and waves a hand as she strolls out of the healing space.

“Send for Lord Kuchiki as well,” Ichigo says a moment later, and grimaces. “He’ll want to know that his sister was hurt.” He looks back toward Rukia’s resting place again. “Alert me when he has arrived, I want to be here when he sees her.”

Yamada nods again, and bows before scurrying away, leaving only Ichigo’s sisters and Hitsugaya, who casts a warning glance at Karin when she opens her mouth.

Ichigo drops a kiss on the top of Yuzu’s head. “I have some…other matters to take care of,” he says, and there is a low note of warning in his tone. He can feel his magic writhing beneath his skin, and his hand clenches around a lick of flame. He nods as three members of the women’s guard step into the room, Lieutenant Arisawa in the lead.

“Your Imperial Highness.” All three bow to him, and Ichigo gestures impatiently for them to rise.

“Has Lady Shihouin given you your orders? Good. Arisawa, I understand you’re assigned to Lady Kuchiki?” he asks.

Arisawa nods briefly. “She fought like one of us, Sir,” is all she says before stationing herself near Rukia’s bed. The other two guards, at Arisawa’s gesture, station themselves close to Yuzu and Karin. One slips the younger girl a book with a wink before her expression becomes impassive once more.

Ichigo nods to all three and sweeps from the room, Hitsugaya following behind him. “Stay here and help guard the princess and Lady Kuchiki,” Ichigo orders the two guards stationed at the doorway.

“Yes, Sir,” they intone. The second, a somber younger man with blond hair whose uniform is smudged with the evidence of magical burns, unbends enough to say, “Lady Kuchiki fought well, Sir. It’s a privilege.” Ichigo just nods.

Four other guards fall behind him.

“Sir,” Hitsugaya begins.

Ichigo doesn’t even glance down at him. “I said we’ll discuss this later. Coordinate with Shihouin and Zaraki. I want this mage caught before they can do anything else.” He turns left down another hallway before Hitsugaya can respond.

His magic is roiling. For a moment all he can see is Yuzu lying injured and _small_ on white sheets. He can picture Rukia, bleeding and flinging attacks at assailants she can’t see. Fire springs up in his hand this time and Ichigo swears, startling all four of the guards around him.

“Your Imperial Highness?” one asks. Ichigo glances at him. The guard is a little taller than him, but obviously muscular, even through the dark uniform he wears. Tattoos spread from the man’s eyebrows and work upwards toward his hairline into two v-shaped patterns, where crimson stubble grows from his scalp.

He shakes his hand and the fire snuffs out. Ichigo has a vague thought of sparring with one of the guards to settle his magic and turns again, down the hallway leading toward the magic-proofed sparring room at the far end of the palace.

There is no one else in the sparring room when he reaches it, and another guard hurries forward to push the door open.

“Ah, Sir, by your orders the sparring room was to be closed during the mourning period,” the redheaded guard says hesitantly, and Ichigo turns to him.

“Yes, it was,” he says, and unceremoniously pulls the heavy black robes from his body. He drapes them on a bench to one side of the room and strips off his belt and Zangetsu with it. His boots and socks are next, and Ichigo leaves them lying on the floor. All four of his guards stare at him as he strips off his shirt.

There is a mirror along one wall and Ichigo catches a glimpse of himself: muscular but still thin, with shoulders he has just barely grown into. His hair is bright as a flame and the longest it has ever been, reaching nearly the middle of the space between his shoulder blades. “You,” he says, and points at the redhead. “Can you shield?” At the guard’s nod, he orders, “Spar with me. Before I set fire to the palace.”

Four jaws drop open and Ichigo barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at them. He wants to shout: _Rukia and my sister are injured and I couldn’t protect them! They nearly died and I wasn’t even there!_ Instead he rolls his shoulders and waits.

“Ah – yes, your Imperial Highness,” the guard says, and as the other three watch he strips off his boots and sword, and then the dō, sode, and kote that make up the top half of his uniform. He pulls his shirt off next, and Ichigo raises an eyebrow at the angular tattoos that work their way outwards from his chest and down his arms. There are more forming a frame around his abdomen and disappearing into his trousers.

“And your offensive magic?” Ichigo asks as he steps away from the bench and into the center of the room.

The guard follows him, still looking unnerved, but he straightens up. “Fire, like you, Sir,” he says.

“Hn. Begin,” Ichigo calls. When a blast of orange flame roars towards him Ichigo’s hands move and a shield of light, curved and glowing, snaps into place and deflects the flame. His own flame follows in retaliation, a slithering thing of orange and red that finds the guard’s hastily-cast triangular shield. The flame hits the ceiling instead and dissipates.

Ichigo steps closer and his hand curves. The very air around the guard twists and pulls, sending the man falling to the floor before he can shield. “Ah – I don’t only have fire,” he explains as the guard leaps back to his feet. This time when the fire leaves his hand it is a whirl of flame, and the guard leaps out of the way, shield growing larger.

“Hn. Good to know, Sir,” the redhead grunts, and sends more fire in Ichigo’s direction.

This blast is stronger, and Ichigo grins as he dodges it and deflects it. He hasn’t sparred in over two months and using his magic like this – pouring it into the air, feeling it move through his veins – is energizing. He traces a shape in the air with his fingertips and the guard barely dodges a lasso of air that whips around him. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Renji Abarai, Sir.” He sends another blast of fire that Ichigo dodges, bobbing lightly on the balls of his bare feet.

Ichigo nods to him and his fingers move again, sending another whirlwind of fire and air. They are both sweating already from the heat in the room, but he drops his shield in favor of ducking and dodging again with Renji’s next attack. His fingers pull the air to him and take Renji off his feet, so that the guard has to scramble to get up and shield from the next blast of fire.

Renji grins at him savagely, and Ichigo has to roll to avoid the next attack. They exchange magical blows for a time, fire and air blasting against shields of light. Renji’s fire catches the hem of Ichigo’s trousers and he shakes off both the flame and the guard’s apologies. The other guards watch silently, occasionally fanning themselves because of the heat, as the room continues to heat up.

Ichigo pulls more of his magic to do his bidding and Renji rises into the air until he can snap himself out of the charged air around him. He lands on the ground with a grunt and retaliates, sending fireballs flying at Ichigo from every direction. Ichigo’s shield rejects them, sending several bounding toward the taller man, who shields frantically to defend himself. His shield flickers and dies as Ichigo watches. “Are your reserves exhausted?” he asks, fire forming in his hand.

“Yeah, that’s all I’ve got,” Renji admits.

Ichigo shakes the fire from his hand with a grunt. His magic sits easier inside him, and so does the rage, banked and under control instead of burning. “Thank you, Guard Abarai,” he says formally, and accepts the other man’s bow with a brief nod.

One of the other guards hurries over with water for them both, and Ichigo waves a hand, sending a cooling breeze into the room. When they are both cooled down, Ichigo dresses once again. His hair is still damp, and when they leave the sparring room he turns towards his rooms.

Yamada finds him partway to his destination instead, however, this time with Lord Byakuya Kuchiki in tow. “Ah! Your Imperial Highness,” Yamada calls, both men bow to him. “You asked me to alert you when Lord Kuchiki arrived.”

The older man straightens up at Ichigo’s gesture. “Your Imperial Highness. You asked to see me.” The words are calm and uninflected, but there is a line of tension in his frame and when the man sniffs delicately Ichigo flushes with embarrassment – he probably stinks of sweat.

But Rukia is more important, and Ichigo nods in acknowledgement. “I did. Your sister, Lady Kuchiki, has been injured,” Ichigo explains calmly, and watches the shock move through the noble’s eyes before the stoic expression returns to his face. “She was defending my sisters from assassins.”

Byakuya stares at him. “My sister has very little magical ability,” he says after a long moment. “She has no talent in the material arts, and only the slightest ability in mind magics.”

At that, Ichigo sighs and thinks, _I’m sorry, Rukia._ “Come with me.” Byakuya bows and soon enough they are in the healing halls again. Karin is reading quietly to Yuzu and the privacy screen is still drawn around Rukia, but Ichigo steps around it just the same.

“Ichigo?” Rukia asks when Byakuya appears behind him. “My Lord Kuchiki.” She tries to sit up and Ichigo hastens closer to help her, an action that has Byakuya looking at both of them speculatively.

“I had to tell your brother that you were injured, Rukia,” Ichigo says apologetically.

“Did you—” When Ichigo shakes his head emphatically, some of the tension leaves Rukia’s body.

“I see there is something you are not telling me,” Byakuya observes. “How did you defend someone from an assassination when you have so little magic, Rukia?”

Rukia’s hands clasp together tightly. “I am sorry, brother,” she whispers. “I know that it is the pride of the Kuchiki clan to be talented in mind magics, and that my stunted abilities do the clan no honor.”

Ichigo looks toward Byakuya, a scowl on his face. “Did _you_ tell her that?” he asks accusingly. “That she is _stunted_?”

“No! No, it was the clan elders who said it,” Rukia says quickly.

“But you _aren’t_ stunted. What the _hell_ , Rukia?” Ichigo’s words are nearly snarled.

Byakuya watches them carefully, eyes shifting between the two as they speak. “I would like one of you to tell me what is going on,” he comments.

“I have battle magic,” Rukia blurts out, hands clenched together so tightly together that her knuckles are turning white. Ichigo’s hand finds her shoulder and rests there, lightly. “ _Strong_ battle magic.”

Byakuya’s jaw drops open, and he clears his throat. “I see. Why did you hide this from me, Rukia?”

“She seemed to think you would be angry,” Ichigo says, and his hand squeezes her shoulder lightly. 

“I was a member of the elite women’s guard before you found me,” Rukia says quietly. “I left the guard after the Adachi incident, because I…” She glances between them. “Something that Adachi did hurt my magic.”

“I see.” Byakuya looks between them again. “The Adachi incident. The guard involved saved the Crown Princess’ life and was badly injured.”

Rukia clears her throat. “Yes,” she agrees. “I am sorry that I did not tell you, I knew it would be a source of dishonor to have a soldier in the clan…”

“Like hell,” Ichigo swears, and he stares at Byakuya, daring him to say otherwise.

“The Emperor’s choice of words is crude,” Byakuya says instead, “But not inaccurate. There is no dishonor in battle magic, or in being part of the women’s guard, Rukia. There is great honor in saving the life of a member of the royal family. Why did you think you couldn’t tell me that?”

Rukia just stares at her hands. “The elders made it clear that only mind magics were acceptable in the clan, and when they tested me, they called it stunted.”

Ichigo’s glare is almost enough to set something on fire, as though he hasn’t just spent half an hour getting that _out_ of his system, but he takes a deep breath and when his hand squeezes Rukia’s shoulder again, she reaches up and rests her hand on his. “You are not stunted,” he says quietly.

“Indeed. Clearly the elders were incorrect,” Byakuya agrees. “You have brought only honor to the clan since joining it, Rukia.”

“She’s saved my life and the lives of my sisters,” Ichigo adds. “Rukia is a jewel of the Kuchiki clan.”

Rukia’s cheeks are flushed bright red and she hides her face in her free hand, but Ichigo just smirks.

Byakuya eyes their joined hands. “You have clearly gotten to know one another,” he observes.

“We have. That is the other reason I asked you to come to the palace,” Ichigo says. “I would like to court Lady Kuchiki formally.” His cheeks flush slightly and he adds, “I hold your sister in extremely high regard.”

“And the other women who were summoned to the palace?”

Ichigo shakes his head. “They are being sent away. Lady Kuchiki is the only woman I wish to court.”

Rukia’s face is as red as a tomato, but she manages to squeeze his hand in return.

“I see. We will need to negotiate terms, your Imperial Highness,” Byakuya points out.

But Ichigo just nods. “We will,” he agrees. “As I said, I hold Rukia in extremely high regard.”

“And how do you feel about this, Rukia?”

“I…have told the Emperor that his courtship would be welcome,” she murmurs, and looks up at him shyly. Their eyes meet and the rage of the last few hours, the worry over her, falls away for a moment as he loses himself in her amethyst-hued eyes. He wants to kiss her again – it’s suddenly the only thing he wants, even though her brother is standing right there. Her hand squeezes his, bringing him back to himself, and Ichigo squeezes her shoulder gently in response.

“Very well. Your Imperial Highness, will you allow me a moment alone with my sister?”

Ichigo looks at him a touch suspiciously, but his hand falls away from Rukia’s shoulder. “I’ll be just outside,” he tells her, and steps away.

The siblings’ words are muffled by the spells on the screen, but Ichigo still hears Byakuya tell her, “I am sorry that the clan elders have so mistreated you. It will not happen again. _They_ have dishonored the clan by making you feel less-than. Your sister—”

“I have a _sister_?”

Ichigo frowns and steps away, instead choosing to sit by Yuzu’s side until Byakuya once more comes out from behind the screen. “My sister is asking for you,” he tells the younger man.

When Ichigo sees her again Rukia’s eyes are red-rimmed. “Did he make you cry?” he demands.

But Rukia just laughs a little and holds her hand out to him. “No! No, it’s fine, Ichigo, I promise. My brother just finally told me the reason I was adopted, and it’s…sadder than I expected.”

Ichigo’s hand slides into hers and he perches on the edge of the bed, facing her. His free hand comes up to brush a stray tear from her cheek. “I see.” He leans forward and his lips touch her forehead lightly.

She sniffs lightly, and Ichigo draws back, cheeks flushed. But Rukia doesn’t look disgusted – she looks… Well. Ichigo isn’t quite sure what to make of the way her pupils dilate slightly.

But Rukia shakes herself of it and explains, “Byakuya was married to my sister. She…abandoned me when I was very young, because she couldn’t take care of me. But she looked for me, after she married Byakuya. Her dying wish was for him to find me and take me into the clan.”

“I’m sorry, Rukia.” He says the words softly, and his arm slides around her when she leans into him.

“I wish I’d been able to meet her.”

“I do too. But she would be proud of you, you know. The same way your brother is.”

Rukia chokes on a laugh and brushes another tear away impatiently. “I’m not normally this much of a…a waterworks,” she excuses herself.

Ichigo chuckles softly and kisses her forehead again. “You’ve been injured and had both healing and a pain potion,” he tells her. “And I don’t mind, anyway. You’re strong, not an…automaton.” When he pulls her away just slightly so that he can lower his lips to hers, Rukia sighs into his mouth and her hand drifts to his shoulder, pulling him closer.

“My brother is just on the other side of the screen,” she whispers when they have parted.

“I know. And you need more rest.” But he kisses her again before he can disentangle himself, and their hands are the last to part.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Aizen strolls casually through the hallways of the palace. Amidst the sea of black robes and equally dark dresses he manages to blend in. He observes with interest the number of wooden trunks being carted off by servants and the disappointed noblemen who follow them. Eventually, however, he reaches an area of the palace where there are no crowds and no guards.

“You were unsuccessful. Again. Even with my help.”

“You told me she had some kind of foresight, ya didn’t say that she was an experienced battle mage,” the silver-haired man protests. “She and that lieutenant killed eight of my best men.”

Aizen sniffs and the silk of his robes whirls around him as he paces the length of the small, out of the way room in a little-used wing of the palace. “A battle mage? That little creature?”

“She has blue fire and she tracked my men using their own magic,” the other man claims. “We hit the younger princess, the pale-haired one, and one of my men injured the Kuchiki girl.”

“But they are both expected to recover fully, and there are too many guards in the healing room for you to sneak someone in,” Aizen comments. “And now they will be on alert.”

“Well, what do ya want me to do?”

“I will make the next move in this little game. Be at the ready for my signal. It looks like the Emperor is dismissing many of the women he called to the palace for this marriage nonsense.”

“That could make things harder,” the silver-haired man points out, but Aizen just smiles.

“Don’t worry, Gin. They won’t all be gone for another few days, I’m sure.”

Gin slips away before Aizen this time, and in his servant’s garb he strolls, false paperwork held in his hand to create the appearance of a servant. He dodges the dark-clad women – some of them saying bitter things about the tiny Kuchiki woman – and their fathers easily, until he runs into a tall, busty woman in a baby blue dress, a bright spot amidst the sea of dark clothing.

“ _Gin_?” The expression on the blonde woman’s face is one of shock as the other nobles and their storage trunks stream around her.


	11. A Snake in the Palace

“ _Gin?_ ” Rangiku stares at him before dragging him off to the side and then through an open doorway into an empty room, out of the crush of the other nobles and servants. “What are you doing here?”

Gin stares at her out of wide, pale eyes for a moment. “Trying to be the Emperor’s bride, Ran?” he asks, and looks her over. “Looks like you’re a finalist, too, with everyone else going home. Didn’t think you were that much of a social climber.”

Rangiku lets out an unladylike snort, hands on her hips. “Please. You’d have to be a fool to think I have a chance with the Emperor. Lady Kuchiki is going to be his bride. I knew that the second she was introduced to the Emperor. He didn’t even _pretend_ to pay attention the rest of the women here.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his robes. “I see. So why _are_ ya here, Ran?”

She laughs quietly and glances toward the still-open doorway. “Free food,” she says with a shrug. “And the little dance the Emperor and Lady Kuchiki have been doing is fun to watch. But why are _you_ here? You’ve been gone three years now.”

Gin looks away from her, silver hair shading his face. “Got my own reasons. You should leave the palace too, Ran. Probably better off back south.”

Rangiku raises an eyebrow nearly into her hairline. “Why would I be better off back south? Once all the other nobles clear out in a few days it’ll be calm enough.” She stares at him. “Gin, are you planning something? What’s going on?” Her hand reaches out for his.

“Sorry, Ran,” Gin says quietly, and his eyes open wide again once more. “Can’t tell you that. But you should take my advice.” He slips out the door before she can say anything else, leaving her empty-handed and staring at the doorway.

She waits a few minutes before lifting her skirts and hurrying back out of the door. “There has to be an advisor around here somewhere,” she mumbles to herself. She is caught in the sea of black fabric and nobles again, and Rangiku lets it sweep her closer to the entrance of the palace. Some of the other women are crying, and she barely resists rolling her eyes as she follows them.

“Being sent home too, Lady Matsumoto?” one of the women asks, and Rangiku _does_ roll her eyes.

“Actually I’ve been invited to stay,” she says with a bright smile. “The Emperor is so kind.”

When the other woman stares at her, Rangiku wiggles her fingers in a rather impolite wave and slips away as the crowd of people thins out. The white-haired advisor, the one who still looks too young to grow a beard, is passing her, and Rangiku grabs for him.

“Lady – Lady Matsumoto!” Hitsugaya exclaims. Then his expression smooths out. “Do you need assistance?”

Rangiku steps in close to him, hiding his body with her taller – and curvier – one. “I need to see the Emperor, Advisor Hitsugaya. It’s a matter of grave importance,” she hisses, trying to pitch her voice so as not to be heard over the din of footsteps and baggage.

Hitsugaya arches his eyebrows and his cerulean eyes stare at her. “The Emperor is busy at the moment. If this is _truly_ important, I can bring you to his office to wait,” he offers.

“Thank you, Advisor Hitsugaya,” she says a little breathlessly. “It really is important.”

He nods solemnly and pulls her back toward the crowd. They thread their way through and turn down a hallway toward the Emperor’s office. There are fewer people in this set of hallways, and most of them are servants, but Rangiku spots a few of the other former bride candidates as she matches her pace to Hitsugaya’s.

“What is this about, Lady Matsumoto?” Hitsugaya asks after a moment.

“I’d rather not discuss it in the hallway,” she responds. “But it _is_ important.” She glances around, blonde hair bouncing as she does.

He frowns up at her but waves a hand and they continue onwards.

Twenty feet from the office and further down the hallway from them, Emperor Ichigo rounds the corner. Rangiku can see his brow furrow slightly, but he gives a brief nod.

A pulse of _something_ blasts through the air. Rangiku grasps her head and screams, doubled over with pain. Beside her Hitsugaya is doing the same thing, and shrieks of pain are echoing from servants and nobles throughout the length of the hallway. She crumples to the ground, wetness dripping from her nose. When she raises her hand to it, her fingertips come away bloodied.

“Hitsugaya! Lady Matsumoto!” Rushed footsteps echo through the wooden floor beneath them as Ichigo, seemingly unaffected, hurries towards them. He bends down and his hand finds Rangiku’s head. Immediately relief from the pain spreads through her body.

Two guards come around the corner at a run and Ichigo looks up at them, a little wild-eyed. “Go get help from the healing halls! Tell them we’ve been attacked!” he shouts, and then his other hand finds Hitsugaya’s head as well. “This is temporary,” he tells them quietly, “But you should be stable until the healers get here.” He stands and moves on toward another crumpled form on the ground, his hand touching that person’s head as well.

From her position on the ground Matsumoto sees a pair of pale eyes looking at her, wide open and then narrowed in a more serious expression than she’s ever seen them. But the pain returns to her head, and she falls into the blackness of unconsciousness.

When she opens her eyes the ceiling above her is different and she is still lying down. “Where…?”

“How is your head feeling, Lady Matsumoto?”

Rangiku turns her head carefully. Junior Advisor Yamada is standing next to her, a healer’s smock thrown over his robes. “Like I finished three tokkari of sake by myself,” she says. When she tries to sit up Yamada hurries to help her.

“That’s to be expected. You were the victim of a mind mage’s attack,” Yamada explains. “I’ve fixed most of the damage. I’ll get you something for your headache.” He hurries off and leaves her to stare at the white fabric of the privacy screen around her.

Emperor Ichigo’s voice reaches her, clear as a bell, and despite her headache Rangiku strains to listen.

“I want a sweep of the entire place immediately. Have Lord Ishida marshal anyone with mind magic who can be spared. I want this bastard found before anyone else dies,” his low growl comes from around the screen. “I want someone at the palace gates scanning the departing nobles and their entourages as well.”

Yamada returns with a small cup of something foul-smelling and a cup of water. “Drink this quickly, and then drink the water after. It tastes awful but it works,” he says. While Rangiku does as he says and swallows heavily several times to keep the potion down, he wrings his hands. “The Emperor gives his sincere apologies for what happened, Lady Matsumoto. We are all doing everything in our power to catch who did this.”

She sips the water and breathes a sigh of relief as the pain begins to recede. “I was trying to find the Emperor when it happened,” she says after a moment. “I have information for him on who might have done this.”

Yamada gapes at her and then rushes away, returning seconds later with Emperor Ichigo, whose hair is tangled as if he has been running his hands through it, and Lady Shihouin.

“Yamada says you know something,” Shihouin says without preamble.

“Lord Gin Ichimaru is in the palace,” Rangiku says. “We’re old friends, but I hadn’t seen him in three years. We ran into one another this morning and he warned me – he didn’t give me specifics, but he told me to go home with the other nobles and go back south.” Tears form in the corners of her eyes and she dabs them away impatiently. “He’s not a mind mage – he’s a talented poisoner and a battle mage – but he _knows_ something.”

Shihouin grimaces. “How did he get in the palace without anyone noticing?” she asks rhetorically, and focuses on Rangiku again. “What does he look like?”

“Ah – Silver hair, pale eyes that he usually keeps narrowed. He looks as vulpine as he did three years ago,” Rangiku stutters out. She brings a hand to her temple. “I don’t know why he warned me. Didn’t he know I would immediately try to tell someone?”

Shihouin shrugs at her. “Maybe he wanted you to,” she says, and with a nod to Ichigo she slips away on silent feet.

“I am sorry this happened, Lady Matsumoto,” Ichigo apologizes with a brief bow. “The guards will do everything in their power to catch whoever did this to you.” He nods to Yamada. “I’m going to check on Lady Kuchiki.”

Rangiku grins despite the seriousness of the situation and the continued pain in her head. “Have you made your decision then, your Imperial Highness?” she asks, and when Ichigo blushes she laughs. Then she winces and holds her hand to her head.

“You should rest a little longer,” Yamada suggests. When he helps her to lie back down, Matsumoto turns her head to the wall and asks in a mumble, “What have you gotten yourself into, Gin?”

Rukia is sitting up and dressing in clothes brought to her by the servants when Ichigo steps around the privacy screen without knocking. She is bare except for her undergarments and bandages around her waist, and when she turns to see him standing there, cheeks bright red and eyes locked on her, Rukia holds the dress in her arms up to her chest and her blush quickly works its way from her cheeks down to her chest. “Ah – Ichigo,” she gasps, and hitches the dress up further so that the voluminous fabric covers her.

The name snaps him out of his staring, and Ichigo averts his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were – I’ll give you some privacy,” he stumbles over his own words and ducks back around the screen before Rukia can say anything. She carefully pulls the dark blue dress on – it’s just a day dress, with sleeves cut close to her arms and a modestly-cut skirt. But Orihime has made modifications and when Rukia glances down at herself the neckline is curved just low enough to be a little flirtatious. There is embroidery on the hem of the skirt in black thread, and Rukia nods approvingly.

“It’s alright,” she calls softly, and Ichigo reappears from behind the screen. His cheeks are still bright, but he smiles softly as he looks at her.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “There’s been another attack and I – I should have announced myself.”

Rukia frowns up at him and her hand rests lightly on his forearm. “Was anyone badly injured? I thought I heard Rangiku just now. Is Orihime alright?” she asks.

“Lady Matsumoto and Advisor Hitsugaya were both injured, as well as a dozen others. We ah – we lost Yuna and Michi, two of the advisors’ aides,” Ichigo says quietly. “Lady Shihouin and I think it was the same mind mage who attacked you. He – or she – is getting more daring.” Ichigo’s arm comes up around her and he tucks her against him. “I’m supposed to be able to protect everyone, and three women are dead because someone is after _me_ ,” he laments, chin resting atop her head.

But Rukia pulls away and glares at him. “You aren’t to blame for this. If you need to get stronger to defeat this coward who hides behind mind magic, get stronger. I’ll train with you so you can beat him. I’ll find him so that we can crush him. You have the guards behind you. You have _me_ behind you,” she says fiercely. “You are the Emperor of the Seireitei, and you aren’t going to let a fool get the better of you.”

Ichigo grins down at her. “That sounds suspiciously like the speech you gave me when you beat my ass years ago,” he says. Rukia’s cheeks heat but he just leans down and brushes his lips against hers, soft and warm, arm tucking her closer to him again. “Thank you, Rukia,” he says when they part. “You’re right. I’m going to find this mind mage and…” He breaks off with a growl, free hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

Rukia’s arm slides around his waist. “ _We_ are going to find this mind mage,” she reminds him. “I couldn’t figure out where they were while I was defending your sisters, but they must have expended a lot of magic when they attacked Matsumoto and Hitsugaya. If I can get a feel for the magic I can find them.” Then she pulls away from him slightly, brow furrowed. “Why them?”

“Ah – I was in the hallway as well,” Ichigo admits. “I think I was the target, but…all I have is a mild headache.”

Rukia purses her lips. “But you were within the range of the attack,” she says slowly.

“Hn. I suppose I was. I wasn’t far from the others who were hurt.”

“Ichigo…are you _immune_ to mind magic?” she asks quietly.

He shrugs briefly. “I don’t know. Mind mages are pretty rare, aren’t they?”

“Not as rare as you would think. There are at least three in the women’s guard,” Rukia corrects him. “You need to test that. If you’re immune to this person’s magic that’s a _critical_ advantage.”

Ichigo hums under his breath. “You’re right,” he admits, and lets her go, only to hold his arm out to her. “Allow me to escort you from the healing halls,” he offers, “if you’re feeling well enough.”

“We should go back to the site of the attack,” Rukia says, and slips her shoes on. “Before the magic fades too much for me to feel it.”

Ichigo nods briefly and as he leads her from the halls a dozen guards fall into line around them, forming both an escort and a rear guard. “We may want to test the other guards for immunity to mind magic,” Rukia whispers as they walk. “It’s no use having guards if a single attack from a distance can incapacitate them.”

He hums his agreement under his breath. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says quietly when they are close to his office. Rukia looks up at him and squeezes his arm gently.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” she says.

Ishida is already examining the area, and he straightens up as he sees the guards. “Your Imperial Highness. Lady Kuchiki.” He bows and raises an eyebrow. “I was just examining the scene.”

“Lady Kuchiki tells me that she may be able to pick up the magical residue that the mind mage left behind,” Ichigo says by way of explanation as Rukia slips from his grasp.

“Yes, that _is_ what I am working on,” Ishida points out.

“I can trace the mage who did this,” Rukia reminds him, and Ishida nods sharply. He backs out of the way as Rukia walks through the hallway where just a short time ago bodies lay injured and dying. She holds one hand out, fingers wide as though she is combing through the air.

It takes a long time: the magical residue is already fading and disintegrating. But eventually, she learns the ‘feel’ of the mage. “I have him,” she announces out loud. She glances at Ishida. “Have you collected enough to determine whether this is the same mage who killed Lady Murata?” she asks.

“Hn. I have to compare the samples, but the magic feels similar,” Ishida admits. “Do you recognize it?”

Rukia purses her lips. “It feels familiar and masculine. Whoever he is, he’s still in the palace.”

“You can find him right now?” Ichigo asks incredulously. “Let’s go, then. We can capture him and put an end to this!”

Rukia holds her hand up. “He is a very powerful mind mage,” she reminds him. “He injured a dozen people. We can’t just rush in.” As Ishida and the guards stare at her, she turns to Ichigo, skirt swishing softly around her legs. “We should test your guards for immunity to mind magic, and make a _plan_ , Ichigo.”

At the use of his first name, Ishida’s jaw drops open and so do a few of the guards’, but Rukia just stands silent before him.

“You’re right,” Ichigo admits.

Tingling fills Rukia’s fingertips all of a sudden, and her vision darkens. _Before her stands a man, eyes shrouded. A smirk spreads over sensual lips as he beckons her closer. “My very own seer,” he says, and the words are practically a purr. “With **you** I can conquer all of Athal. With **you** , the Empire will be mine.” _

_She recoils from him, but there is nowhere to go. Ichigo is on the floor, unconscious or dead, with blood spreading around his body_.

“ **No!** ” Rukia’s voice echoes in the sudden silence of the hallway.


	12. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia tells Ichigo about her strange magic. And a plan is hatched to catch the mind mage.

Everyone is staring at her; Ishida and the guards just look startled, but the look in Ichigo’s eyes is one of concern. “Rukia?” he asks carefully, and steps closer to her. “Did something just happen?”

Her gorge rises suddenly, and Rukia claps a hand to her mouth before she hurries into the open door of Ichigo’s office. She is on one of the benches, body shaking and face pale, when Ichigo steps inside. She swallows several times, trying to keep from retching.

He sits down next to her and takes her hands in both of his. They are freezing cold, and Ichigo chafes them to warm her, even as healing power trickles into her, slowing her heartrate and easing the nausea and shakes. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asks again.

“I—I Saw something,” Rukia whispers, and there are tears in her amethyst eyes. Ichigo just waits patiently. “I’ve – it started happening after the Adachi incident. It’s why I left the guard. I started to hear voices and see things.”

_A tall, slender man in black holds onto Karin tightly, one large hand clamped around both of her wrists so that her arms are twisted painfully behind her back. His eyes are an eerie bright green and the shock of hair on his head is dishwater blond. Rukia shields and dodges the projectiles he flings at her: children’s toys, paperweights; anything with a sharp edge is fair game. One hits her forehead, and the sharp edge of the paperweight splits open her skin, sending a flood of red into her left eye._

_Shouts from around the corner echo through the room and Adachi turns to look at the source of the noise, dragging Karin with him. It leaves his side open and Rukia’s blue fire slithers, biting into him and wrapping around the wrist of the hand holding Karin. He yells in agony and lets go of Karin’s wrists. The girl immediately runs toward Rukia and ducks behind her shield._

_“Rukia!” she gasps, and Rukia doubles the strength of her shield. She shoves Karin behind her. More blue fire streaks toward Adachi from Rukia’s right hand; he dodges, and Rukia curses under her breath._

“Rukia?”

_He throws something toward them. It’s an explosive, Rukia suddenly knows, and she turns away, throwing herself atop Karin as it explodes in midair. Her shield shreds under the onslaught and Rukia screams as fire burns her legs and back. Shrapnel – maybe from the bomb, maybe from the broken toys and furniture scattered around the room – embeds itself in her skin. Her ears feel stuffed full of cotton and she can barely hear Karin as she squirms out from under Rukia’s bleeding body and shouts for help._

_Rukia rolls herself over even though it makes her dizzy with pain, and blue fire explodes from her hand. When the other guards find them a few minutes later, Adachi is dead and Rukia is struggling to stay conscious._

“Rukia. Can you hear me?”

_When she is released from the healing halls a few days later, she can’t even form a shield. “Where is your blue fire?” Arisawa asks her when Rukia is cleared to return to duty. When Rukia’s efforts produce nothing but a flicker of ordinary fire and a little smoke, a few guards whisper that Adachi must have damaged her magic._

_The first time Rukia dreams of something that comes true – a member of the women’s guard runs off with a kitchen servant – she thinks it is a coincidence. But then the whispers begin in her head: things as mundane as the kitchen’s fish order and as esoteric as an obscure metal crafting technique._

“Rukia?” Ichigo says again and squeezes her hands gently. “Come back to me. Look at me.” His voice is low in her ears and it cuts through the memory.

She drags in a breath and stares at him as the memory leaves her. “I didn’t _just_ smell the Night’s Slippers in your tea that day. I dreamed about it early that morning. I thought it was just a dream. But when I woke up my hands were tingling, and I felt the same thing when I watched you pour the tea and lift the cup to drink from it,” she explains. “The same thing happened at supper; I _Saw_ the woman in the pink dress fake a trip to fall into your arms, and then when she did trip, I blocked her.”

He glances back toward the office door briefly and then looks at her. “So then you Saw something just now. What was it?”

“There’s a man. I think it’s the man who’s behind all of this. He told me that I was going to be his personal Seer and that he was going to conquer Athal.” Rukia swallows again. “You were on the ground, bleeding. You weren’t moving,” she finishes in a whisper.

Ichigo’s hands tighten around hers. “You’ve been able to prevent these visions from happening so far.”

“Ah – there’s one vision that hasn’t…happened yet,” Rukia prevaricates. “And I have no control over when I See something. I thought I was going crazy, until I smelled the tea.”

Ichigo’s hands let go of hers, but only so that he can pull her closer, arms tight around her. “You’re not going crazy, Rukia. You have an _invaluable_ gift. Seers are supposed to be a myth.”

“You believe me?” The relief spreads through Rukia’s body and the tension leaves her so quickly that she sinks into his arms.

“Of course I believe you.” When he pulls back to look at her, Ichigo adds, “Maybe it’s something you can train. Have you tried?”

She shakes her head briefly. “When it happened at the manor I just…thought I was losing my mind. The Kuchiki elders thought I was a stunted mind mage,” she reminds him quietly.

“Your ability to locate someone by sensing their magic _is_ closer to mind magic than battle magic,” Ishida says from the doorway. When Ichigo and Rukia both stare at him, he adds, “Forgive me, the door was open. You say you can See, Lady Kuchiki? Neither my father nor I have ever met a Seer, but I have an old text with a few exercises; they might help.”

“If I can control it and help Ichigo – yes, I’ll do whatever I need to,” Rukia says quickly.

Ishida nods to her. “I’ll have the book brought to your rooms. I think if you can master the exercises, you’ll find that your Sight will be clearer,” he explains. Then he looks over at Ichigo. “I’ve taken everything I can from the hallway. I’ll analyze the samples and confirm whether the same mage killed Murata and attacked you. It’s all I can do for now, Sir.”

Ichigo takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Ishida. I want to see Advisors Ukitake and Kyouraku. Have them sent here – please,” he adds. “I want to see Shihouin and Zaraki again as well – with Rukia’s skills, we may have an advantage.”

Rukia’s cheeks heat, but she just nods solemnly. “I’ll do anything you need me to do in order to help,” she repeats.

Ishida grunts. “I don’t think this mind mage can attack again right away,” he says. “That attack must have taken a lot of energy – he’ll need some time to recover. But we may only have a day or two. If this is the same mage, he’s very powerful.”

Rukia nods in agreement. “I couldn’t – see any sense of _time_ in the vision, only that we were in a small room and I felt cornered. But I couldn’t see much of the room either.” She rolls her eyes. “As if that does any good at all.”

Ishida grimaces. “I’ll find your advisors,” he says, and steps back outside. The door closes behind him.

Ichigo’s lips touch the corner of her mouth. “Without any training you’ve already saved my life,” he says firmly. “With training, you’ll be more formidable than you already are.” He grins when her cheeks flush.

She turns her head so that her lips can meet his in full, and Ichigo’s arms tighten around her. The strength of those arms makes Rukia relax even as they kiss, and when her lips part on a breath he licks into her mouth, sending little shocks of pleasure through her body and prompting a soft moan that vibrates between them. Before they can do more, however, footsteps echo in the hallway and a knock echoes on the closed door. Ichigo pulls his mouth away but rests his forehead against hers.

At Ichigo’s call, Kyouraku opens the door and steps inside. Ukitake follows him. “Ah – were we interrupting something?” Kyouraku asks with a grin.

Ichigo loosens his hold on Rukia but keeps her close to him. “Yes, but this is a crisis. Another one.”

Ukitake shuts the office door and sits down on the bench, hiding a coughing fit in the folds of his robes. “Another?” he asks when his breathing has recovered.

“There’s a mind mage in the palace, and we don’t know who he is, or why he has attacked both my sisters and I,” Ichigo explains. “Rukia can trace his magic – but I want to avoid a confrontation if we can. It might be the same person whose magic killed Murata. I want you to try and find out who amongst the nobles and courtiers still in the palace has mind magic. Kyouraku, you’re known for being congenial,” he starts.

Kyouraku huffs and tips his straw hat at Ichigo. “I’m known for being a _drunk_ , you mean, and free with my special alcohol,” he drawls.

Ukitake laughs softly but sobers when he looks at Ichigo. “With the empire still in mourning we can’t exactly hold a party,” he tells the young emperor. “We’d need either an official dispensation, which would look suspicious, or to hold an illicit party, which would be even _more_ suspicious.”

Ichigo bites his lower lip in thought. “What if it’s not a party? Just dinner, one or two nobles at a time.”

“Hn. Are you feeling well enough for that, Juushiro?” Kyouraku asks.

Rukia straightens up against Ichigo as she watches the two older men. This close, the signs of illness are easy to spot: Ukitake’s pale skin and the shadows beneath his eyes give him away, as does the slight shaking of his hands.

“I’ll be fine,” Ukitake assures him, and the two exchange a look so tender that Rukia wants to turn her eyes away, as though it is something too intimate for her to watch. “If I get tired, you can always ply them with more alcohol and tell them your husband is a stick in the mud.”

At that, Rukia hides a laugh behind her hand and she can feel Ichigo turning his face toward her hair, hiding his own smile. “Are either of you able to sense mind magic?” she asks.

Kyouraku grins at her. “I can sense every kind of magic,” he explains. “It’s why, while Advisor Ishida and his son handle magic-related matters, I keep a hand in it and in the empire’s spiritual affairs.” He looks at Rukia closely. “I can tell you have battle magic, for example – but you’re a Seer as well.” He pauses. “You have something of a mind mage about you too, Lady Kuchiki, but it feels almost entirely blocked.”

Rukia stares at him and looks up quickly at Ichigo. “Maybe the Kuchiki elders were right,” she whispers.

“What would block mind magic?” Ichigo asks, an eyebrow arched at Kyouraku. “And what do you mean _mostly_ blocked?”

Kyouraku shrugs. “If you experienced trauma when your powers were maturing that could have done it. It’s unusual to have considerable ability in three different magical specialties. Not unlike our Emperor here, Lady Kuchiki, you’re…not exactly an anomaly, but _rare_.”

“Ah – why _is_ that so unusual?” Rukia asks.

Kyouraku rubs his chin lightly. “Well, it’s not unusual for someone to have skill in multiple areas of the same _kind_ of magic. Mages with skill in the material arts can frequently work with more than one material. But it seems that the magical pathways in the body can usually handle only one or two different _types_ of magic. The Emperor is a good example of an anomaly – healing and battle magic alone are an unusual combination, but it’s downright _rare_ to have any skill with material arts as well.”

“And my abilities?” she asks.

“Yours are a little more understandable, Lady Kuchiki. Battle and mind magics are not _so_ far apart as healing and battle magics. But being able to See is…well, it’s supposed to be a myth.” Kyouraku shrugs, and then grins at them both. “Your children will be _very_ interesting.”

Ichigo and Rukia look at one another and then away, blushing brightly. “Ah, isn’t it a bit soon to talk about children?” Her voice sounds shy to her own ears, and Rukia flushes deeper in embarrassment.

Ukitake smiles kindly. “My husband is teasing,” he says, and nudges Kyouraku gently. “Of course it’s early, you’ve just started _courting_.” But he looks between them speculatively and turns to Kyouraku to whisper something that makes the other man tip his head back and laugh loudly.

They all look up at a loud knock at the door, and the door swings open to reveal Zaraki and Shihouin again. “You wanted to see us?” Zaraki asks and sketches a bow.

“Close the door,” Ichigo orders. When the door is shut tightly, he explains, “We know that there is a mind mage somewhere in the palace. Rukia – Lady Kuchiki – has pointed out that all the guards in the palace won’t do any good if a mind mage can easily incapacitate them. I want you to take your mind mages and have them test the other members of the guard for their ability to resist mind magic. And we need a plan to go after this mage.”

Shihouin perches on a bench while Zaraki throws himself down on the one opposite her, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his thighs. “How are we going to find this mage?” he asks in a low growl. “Does anyone know who he is?”

“I can trace him by the feel of his magic,” Rukia says.

Zaraki stares at her before grinning. “Useful,” he says.

“And _we_ will be taking a more…subtle approach,” Ukitake adds.

“It will take time to have the _entire_ guard stationed in the palace tested,” Lady Shihouin points out. “We might lose the mage before we can do that.”

“He seems fixated on the Emperor and his sisters,” Rukia says, with a shake of her head. “I don’t think he’ll leave the palace as long as we haven’t caught him.”

“Hn. Maybe not. But all these painted ladies are leaving the palace – what if it’s one of them?” Zaraki asks.

“I have Fujita testing nobles as they exit the palace,” Lady Shihouin explains. “It’s causing a terrible backlog though, your Imperial Highness. It could take a few days.”

Ichigo grimaces. “That’s just going to cause more chaos. Kyouraku, can you assist Fujita? Or are there other guards who can sense magic?”

Shihouin purses her lips. “I have three more in the guard, but one is on leave. I can send the other two to help Fujita, but that will leave us without anyone else in the palace besides Advisor Kyouraku,” she muses.

“Hn. My guards can just shake it out of them,” Zaraki suggests. When the two advisors, Ichigo, _and_ Lady Shihouin all glare at him, he laughs. “Just a thought.”

“Hn. I’d rather not have the _entire_ nobility at my throat,” Ichigo grumbles.

“So this mind mage. How are we going to catch him?” Shihouin asks.

They spend over an hour discussing it, raising ideas and discarding them. Rukia doesn’t bring up her Sight; unreliable as it is, she won’t be able to rely on it.

But eventually Zaraki laughs again and stands. “Keep this one, Sir,” he advises Ichigo and points at Rukia. “Shihouin, if you send another one of your mages up to the gates, I’ll send back-up in case anyone gets antsy,” he offers. When Lady Shihouin stands to follow him, he nods to Ichigo and leaves, the door banging behind him.

Rukia’s cheeks flush brightly again as Shihouin and then Kyouraku and Ukitake take their leave.

“It’s nice to have the endorsement of your General,” Rukia says faintly. “At least he isn’t calling me useless.”

Ichigo grins at her and rises before offering her his hand. “He’s called the rest of the candidates useless as a group. It’s as ringing an endorsement as you’ll get from him,” he agrees. When Rukia takes his hand and rises he pulls her close. “Do you mind if I keep you?” he asks in a low voice, lips a breath from hers.

“We’ve only just started courting properly. You might change your mind,” Rukia protests, but she can’t help the way she smiles up at him.

“Hn.” Ichigo’s teeth nip lightly at her lower lip, startling a gasp out of her. “That’s very close to insulting yourself. I did tell you I’d take matters into my own hands if you did that again.” His arm slides around her, a warm weight against her back.

“You still haven’t explained what that _means_ ,” Rukia complains.

Ichigo’s eyes meet hers, and there is something both warm and dark in them. He murmurs into her ear, “I’ll show you. Later, when you’re not still wearing bandages and I really do have you all to myself.”

Rukia’s cheeks warm again, but she keeps her eyes on his as she says, “I look forward to it.”


	13. A Nobles' Dinner - and a Snow-White Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shunsui and Juushiro have dinner. Meanwhile, Ichigo creates a one of a kind courtship gift for his Lady.

“So, who first?” Juushiro asks when he and Shunsui are back in their rooms. “There must be a dozen noblemen still on the grounds.” Theirs is one of the better suites in the palace: a generous gift from Isshin’s father to his newlywed advisors. The ceilings are high, and the exposed wooden beams are carved with intricate depictions of flowers and wildlife. Their living area is elegantly appointed and airy thanks to a pair of windows along one wall. Sliding dividers of ornately carved wood separate the living area from their bedroom.

“Yamada gave me a copy of his list. Retsu was right to have Isshin make him her designee – the boy’s more organized than either of us,” Shunsui says. “And I already know what magic runs in some of the noble families.” He drapes himself on one of the soft, plush red cushions dotting the space and removes his hat. “Didn’t you tell me that the Emperor had a theory that Lord Aizen wasn’t telling the truth about his magic?”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t tell Hitsugaya or I what he thought it was,” Juushiro explains and sits on the cushion next to his.

“Did you get a headache when the Emperor was talking to him?”

Juushiro shakes his head. “The Emperor seemed to be in pain, though.”

Shunsui leans back thoughtfully and reaches a hand over. Juushiro’s hand slides into his and squeezes lightly. “We can’t invite him first,” he decides. “Or he’ll be suspicious. Third, I think – we’ll let word get around that we are inviting nobles to small, intimate dinners.”

“Hmm. Are you sure? Isn’t he the highest ranked of everyone staying at the palace?” Juushiro asks. “We might offend him.”

“I’ll get the list.” Then Shunsui looks at his husband, lounging on the cushion with his silver-white hair draped around him and his robes loose, and grins. “In a little while.” He leans over and kisses him, mouth gentle on his husband’s. Juushiro’s hand comes up to rest against the back of his neck, and they kiss just like that for a time, lips moving against one another.

“In a little while?” Juushiro repeats, breathing more heavily. His hand slides up to pull the tie from Shunsui’s hair, letting it flow loose around his shoulders.

“We have several hours until supper,” Shunsui points out, and kisses him again. Juushiro grins against his lips and pulls him closer.

Then: “We’re getting a little old to do this on the floor,” he points out, and his husband throws his head back to laugh.

“So we are.” Shunsui pulls away, only to lift Juushiro into his arms and carry him into their bedroom. And it is indeed a _long_ while before Juushiro rises from their bed once more to ring for a servant, send invitations to two nobles for supper, and write a request to the kitchens for a special meal.

It turns out that Aizen does need to be one of the first men they sup with, and so Juushiro carefully selects Lord Komamura, who like Aizen is from the northernmost part of the empire, as their fourth. Lord Komamura is no more a mind mage than he is a songbird, but Aizen – Shunsui glances at Juushiro meaningfully as he pours the first round of sake.

The kitchen staff have outdone themselves: arranged on the lacquered black table in their living room are a dozen elegant dishes. Shunsui pours sake generously and they dine on artistically designed sushi, miso soup, and delicate shumai that vanish so quickly Juushiro only gets one.

“It’s a waste of time, bringing all those women here and then sending them away just as quickly,” Lord Komamura points out when he’s finished his third saucer of sake.

“Oh?” Juushiro asks pleasantly as he pours another saucer-full for everyone except himself.

“Some of us traveled _days_ to get here,” Komamura explains, and shoves another slice from the eel roll into his mouth. “My daughter said the Emperor never even _looked_ at her, spent all his time chasing after some adopted brat.”

“His Imperial Highness’ choice to select a bride by calling upon every eligible woman in the empire was an…interesting one,” Aizen says smoothly, and takes a sip from his saucer. “But it seems he was successful.”

Shunsui and Juushiro exchange a look. “The Emperor did seem to make his choice quickly,” Shunsui acknowledges with a grin. “He’s like his father that way. You remember when Emperor Isshin, may he be resting in the heavens, met the future Empress.”

“Yes,” Juushiro agrees seriously. “He was certain almost immediately. You, yourself swore they were soulmates, Lord Komamura.”

The towheaded man concedes solemnly, “Yes, it may be that the Emperor has the luck of his father in that way.” He raises his saucer. “A toast to Emperor Isshin, if I may.”

There is nothing for it but to toast, and the four men raise their sake saucers in acknowledgement and then drink.

“I’ve heard some strange rumors in the palace,” Komamura says a moment later. “I’m told that the Murata girl was killed.”

Shunsui sips his sake calmly and watches Aizen over the rim of his saucer. “There are often rumors in the palace,” he deflects. The brunet doesn’t even flinch, just selects a piece of sushi and eats it slowly, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“How concerning, if true,” Aizen finally says when he has swallowed his mouthful of food. “The palace has always been a place of safety; it would be a shame if that were no longer the case. Particularly if it were no longer safe for the servants.”

Juushiro hums under his breath. “I am not sure I understand what you mean, Lord Aizen,” he says politely as he picks up a petite canelé of rice over which a butterflied shrimp has been placed. But Aizen just smiles blandly and sips his sake before turning the conversation to other matters.

Later, when the two noblemen have gone and Shunsui and Juushiro are undressing for bed, Juushiro yawns. “Anything?” he asks.

“Hn. Komamura is totally inert,” Shunsui says. “His daughter is too, I’d bet. But it was a nice touch, putting the thought that Lady Kuchiki and the Emperor are soulmates in his head.”

Juushiro hangs his ebony silk robe in the closet and divests himself of his shirt and trousers, then takes a plain black sleeping yukata from a hook in the closet and pulls it on. “Well _you_ put it in my head,” he retorts, and pulls back the duvet cover atop the low platform bed.

“I did. And I’m not wrong – you saw the two of them today, sitting in his office. Even Isshin waited until he was engaged to Masaki to be so affectionate.” Shunsui puts away his clothing as well and slides into bed next to Juushiro wearing only his undergarments.

“Hmm. You don’t think it could be Lord Kuchiki? That clan is almost all mind mages,” Juushiro murmurs as he turns on his stomach to look at his husband. His silver-white hair trails over his shoulders.

But Shunsui just shakes his head, and one finger curls in that silvery hair. “He’s too honorable. And I saw the courtship papers – he’d be a fool to jeopardize his sister’s relationship with the Emperor.”

“They’re that favorable to the clan?” Juushiro asks skeptically. He leans in closer when Shunsui tugs on his hair, and kisses him softly.

“So much so that Byakuya’s elders had better pray that Rukia doesn’t hold a grudge,” Shunsui confirms. Then: “You have energy for _that_?” he asks, as Juushiro slides down his body, silver-white hair trailing against his bare skin.

“Unlike you, _I_ only had one cup of sake,” Juushiro retorts, and slips beneath the covers.

“Are we forgetting something?” Shunsui asks a few minutes later. “About the dinner with Komamura, I mean.”

“ _You’re_ forgetting that I’m trying to make love to you,” comes the somewhat irritated response.

* * *

The ink covering the paperwork on Ichigo’s desk is barely dry, and there is something very satisfying about seeing the words in writing. Even if the language is much drier than the ink. The formal courtship document on his desk makes plain his power – and the power of the Kuchiki Clan.

_On this date the Emperor of the Seireitei, Ichigo Kurosaki, Defender of the Heavens and Head of the Kurosaki Clan, agrees to enter into a period of formal courtship with Lady Rukia Kuchiki, most beloved sister of the Kuchiki Clan Head._

It outlines the status of the Kuchiki Clan in relation to the Kurosaki Clan, and names that clan as Most Favored among all the noble houses in the empire. It is much more than the clan elders, who told Rukia that she was _stunted_ , deserve, Ichigo privately believes, but Byakuya Kuchiki is an honorable man – and the courtship document calls Rukia his _most beloved sister_ three times.

There are clauses in the document that outline Ichigo’s obligations to her: that he will seek no other woman as his empress or partner, that he will never raise his hand to her or harm her, that he will keep her safe. The clauses that outline Rukia’s obligations to him are listed as well.

There will be courtship gifts, the document states, which Rukia will keep if they end their relationship. And it outlines the bride price Ichigo will give to the Kuchiki Clan if they marry. It’s exorbitant by most standards – Ichigo has seen the document that the Ishida and Inoue clans have signed and Orihime’s bride price is a third as large – but Rukia will be the Empress of the Seireitei.

It is the first courtship gift, the one he will present to her along with the contract, that has delayed Ichigo. It must be unique. It must show her his affection and respect. He dismisses the idea of jewelry immediately as not original enough for a first gift, and fine silks as too cheap. The palace is filled with art, but that strikes him as too _impersonal._ Then his hand brushes Zangetsu’s hilt, and Ichigo smiles.

Ichigo reaches the royal vault through a back stairwell that takes him – and the six guards following him – three levels beneath the palace proper. Here, the walls are made of cream-colored stone and the ceilings are undecorated save for glowing lights. He nods to the guards standing outside the vault doors, and they bow to him in unison.

“Your Imperial Highness,” one says in greeting. Blond stubble grows from his head and Ichigo wracks his brain for a name.

“Captain Hirako,” he greets finally. “I need a few items from the vault.”

The captain nods politely and turns to the guard closest to the reinforced set of metal doors. “On the gate,” he says, and the guard nods to him in return.

“On the gate.”

Hirako takes a large key from the pocket of his uniform and slides it into the ornate lock. “Vault opening.”

“Yes, sir,” the other guards intone. Hirako turns the key and the sound of turning cogs echoes along the stone walls. The vault doors slide open, and Ichigo nods his thanks.

The vault is well-organized, Ichigo sees as he steps inside: the jewels are packed in boxes and velvet bags, the gold is neatly hidden away. “This must have been one of Ryuuken’s projects,” Ichigo mumbles. Neat paper labels are on every box and bag; when he looks at the writing on the one closest to him, he nods in confirmation. “Definitely Ryuuken.”

But he’s thankful to his advisor, as it makes his life much easier. Soon enough he finds what he needs: there is a small box of soul-steel on a high shelf, and ingots of platinum nearby. In another part of the vault he finds bundles of flat, tightly woven silk; the white silk calls to him, sparking beneath his fingertips, and Ichigo grabs it. There is rayskin as well, and again a specific piece, bleached white, sparks under his hand.

There is one piece left to find, and for that Ichigo _does_ turn to the boxes of jewels. It’s mildly appalling just how many gems are simply stored, untouched and never seen, so far under the palace, and it occurs to him that he could do something about that. _But first, Rukia’s gift_ , he tells himself. He goes through trays of emerald, rubies, and even diamonds before his hand hovers over a white star sapphire cabochon larger than his thumb. _Yes_ , he thinks, and takes it from the tray.

Materials collected, Ichigo leaves a note on the inventory paperwork and marks it with his seal before stepping out of the vault. Captain Hirako closes the metal doors behind him, and Ichigo carries his finds away – in fact, he leaves the palace entirely in favor of the blacksmith’s forge on the western side of the grounds. If his guards are confused by his destination, they stay silent.

“Your Imperial Highness,” the head blacksmith greets him with a grin, though he bows low. “It has been a long time since you have come to practice your metalworking skills.”

Ichigo can’t help the grin that comes to his face. “I haven’t had much time,” he acknowledges. “Do you have space in your forge free, Nimaya, and tamahagane steel? I have a special project.”

“Hm, hm, for the Emperor, I always have room, if you haven’t let your skills rust,” Nimaya says cheerfully, and steps out of Ichigo’s way.

The blacksmith’s forge is three times the size of most forges, with good stone walls and openings to let out the incredible heat coming from the fire. There is a small alcove where Ichigo sets the more delicate of his finds from the vault, and he hangs up his robe in favor of a thick leather apron and gloves. He keeps the pieces of soul-steel with him.

“So what’s this special project, your Imperial Highness? I heard a rumor you’re picking a bride.” Something of the pleased jolt that goes through Ichigo at those words must show on his face, because Nimaya laughs openly. “A courting gift, then. She must be a special lady if you need my forge,” he guesses, mouth wide in a grin.

Though he hasn’t been to the forge in at least six months, Ichigo remembers well where the tamahagane can be found, and he selects several pieces, laying them out at the edge of the fire. “She is,” he admits as he selects tools and sets the soul-steel down as well.

“Hmm, special enough to use soul-steel.” Nimaya pulls the glass goggles covering his eyes up and stares at Ichigo. “The girl can fight, then?”

Rukia’s secret is well and truly out, so Ichigo says as he takes a piece of the metal in long tongs, “She was a member of the elite women’s guard.” He holds the soul-steel over the fire, allowing the silvery-white metal to soften.

“Hn, and you think she wants a blade more than she wants baubles?” Nimaya leans up against the far wall and watches him.

Ichigo allows a trickle of his magic to fill the metal as it heats. “Those will come. But I think – something told me this is the right gift,” he says.

“Hn. Well, you know the lady best. Don’t shirk on your magic, Sir.” With that admonishment Nimaya turns to his own work.

The forging process takes time, even with his magic. The soul-steel pieces must be melded together to form the core of the blade, and the tamahagane must be heated and folded repeatedly. His magic helps move the steel and draws out impurities, making the hammering and folding easier for him, but it is still hard, hot work that has him sweating and his hair plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck. But eventually, the tamahagane is ready to be folded over the soul-steel and a blade takes shape beneath his hands.

The sun moves through the sky as Ichigo works. His magic polishes the blade, bringing out the pattern of the metal, and finally Ichigo sets it aside and removes his gloves. The tsuba is next, shaped from one of the platinum ingots into an oval. Ichigo manipulates the platinum with his magic so that thin strands radiate out from the center and join the oval perimeter. The tsuka he makes from pale wood, wrapping it first with the white rayskin and then with the white silk once it’s fastened to the tang. With the second ingot of platinum he uses his magic to shape two menuki: a crescent moon and a wild flame.

Finally, Ichigo sets the last of the platinum at the end of the tsuka and lays the white star sapphire inside it to form the pommel. More wood forms a simple sheath and, though his magic strains a little, he coats it in white lacquer so that the color of the sheath matches the silk wrapped around the tsuka.

Ichigo realizes suddenly that the light overhead is coming from glowing orbs instead of the sun outside. In fact, he sees as he straightens up from his work, the sun is gone from the sky and the stars are out.

“Well let’s see it,” Nimaya orders, and Ichigo startles. He holds the blade out wordlessly, parallel to his body. Nimaya takes it from him without ceremony and examines it minutely. Ichigo waits, body swaying with sudden fatigue, until the master blacksmith grins at him and pronounces, “It’s a good sword, Sir. It won’t fail your bride.”

Ichigo takes the blade back and sheaths it carefully. “Thanks, Nimaya,” he says, and then sways with fatigue.

The blacksmith snorts, and before Ichigo can protest he pulls the apron from around Ichigo’s neck and shoves the sword and Ichigo’s cloak into his arms. “Back to the palace,” he orders cheerfully. “Your bride will have to wait until morning.”

There is a new shift of guards waiting for him outside, and it takes every ounce of Ichigo’s remaining energy to get back to the palace and to his suite of rooms without collapsing on them. There is a manservant in his quarters, waiting for him, and Ichigo blinks tiredly. “I need a bath and some food,” he manages, and sits heavily on a plush cushion.

“Right away, Sir,” the man responds, and hurries off. Ichigo dozes where he sits and wakes again only when the man – with great dignity – gently shakes him awake. “Your bath is ready. Allow me to take your robe and swords, Sir,” he offers as Ichigo rouses.

“Ah. Yes, thanks,” Ichigo mumbles and stands. He hands over the robe and Rukia’s gift, and then Zangetsu as well. He nearly falls asleep again in the bath, and again over a bowl of hot soup that he eats in his nightclothes, but finally Ichigo crawls into his bed and sleeps until mid-morning.

His exhaustion is worth it, though, when he has Rukia brought to his suite in the early afternoon. She steps inside hesitantly, petite form wearing an ice-blue dress trimmed with bands of dark gray, and her night-dark hair flowing freely save for a few locks that have been pulled up into an elaborate array of loops.

“Ichigo,” she says, when she has risen from a deep curtsey. “I didn’t see you yesterday.” Then her cheeks flush, as though shy of admitting it.

Ichigo leans down and kisses her, lightly, one hand brushing against her cheek. “I was making something for you,” he explains, and grins when her brow furrows.

“For me?” Rukia repeats. Her arms slip around his shoulders and she leans up to kiss him again, soft and sweet on his lips.

“Yes.” Ichigo pulls away, but gently. “Will you sit with me?” he asks, and gestures toward a low chaise across from an ornate wooden table. The sheathed blade, wrapped in white silk, and the sheaf of papers sit on the table.

“Of course,” she murmurs, and allows him to lead her to the chaise. They sit next to one another, bodies angled so that they are facing each other, and Ichigo hands her the papers.

“This is the courting agreement that your brother and I have created,” he explains as Rukia stares at the document. “If – only if – you agree with it as well, then we’ll officially be courting.”

“I see.” The room falls silent as she reads, eyes moving quickly over first one page and then the next. There are ten pages in all – some of which hold only the inked shapes that will make the contract binding. When her amethyst eyes meet his again, they are filled with tears, and Ichigo hurriedly brushes one away.

“Have I upset you? Is something wrong with the terms?” Ichigo asks in a rush, but Rukia just laughs and leans in to kiss him again.

“No! This is – this is absurdly generous. And I don’t mind the terms at all.” That last is said shyly, with flushed cheeks and lashes hiding her eyes from his view.

“You’re sure?” he asks. Ichigo’s heart beats faster and his hand strokes her cheek again. “I ah – I struck some of the more traditional language.”

On the pages in her hands are Rukia’s obligations to _him_. In some ways they are similar to the language regarding his obligations: that she will seek no other partner and be loyal to him. That she will promise never to use her magic to harm him or the empire. “This doesn’t say that I need to have children, only that I’ll consider it,” Rukia says in acknowledgement, and her cheeks turn a brighter shade.

“I didn’t like the older language,” Ichigo murmurs, and his lips touch her forehead lightly. “It was coercive and allowed me to break my promises to you if we _can’t_ have children.”

“But – don’t you want an heir?” Rukia asks, plainly bewildered.

“I’d like an heir,” he agrees, and his hand slides to clasp hers. “But that isn’t why I want to court you, or marry you, Rukia. I think you know that.”

Her eyelids flutter as their lips meet again, and Rukia’s fingers tangle with his. “I’m glad,” she whispers when they part again. “And yes, I – I accept this agreement.”

“We need to push our magic into it then,” Ichigo murmurs, and he uncurls his fingers so that he can touch the top sheet of paper. “That will seal the agreement.”

The papers glow so brightly that they both shield their eyes when their combined magic hits them, and when the glow dies down Ichigo can’t resist another grin. “I have a gift for you as well,” he says, and pulls away so that he can set the papers on the table in favor of picking up the silk-wrapped sword. He sets it gently on her lap.

Rukia tentatively pulls the silk away, revealing the sword with its sapphire pommel and nearly pure-white appearance. Her fingertips brush over the sheath and then over the platinum menuki. “Oh,” she whispers and stands, allowing the silk to fall from her lap. Rukia backs away from him to unsheathe the sword and swings, slowly, to test the balance of the blade. She spins it in her hand as Ichigo watches. “This is a soul blade,” she says as she sheathes it once more and places it on the table.

“It is,” Ichigo agrees, and clasps his hands in his lap. For a moment he thinks he’s made the wrong choice, but then Rukia comes back to him and covers his mouth with hers, lips soft and warm. He loops an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, though he can feel that there are still bandages beneath her dress and he keeps his hand gentle. “Do you like it?” he finally asks, a note of vulnerability in his voice. “It’s one of a kind – I forged it for you.”

Rukia smiles up at him and her hands cup his cheeks. “I love it,” she assures him. “I can feel your magic on it, and I thank you for making it for me.” She kisses him again, gently. “Why a sword?”

“Because you aren’t _just_ beautiful,” Ichigo explains quietly, and he can feel his cheeks heating. “You’re strong and powerful. And I want you to know that you will be my _partner_. Your blade is a mirror to Zangetsu, the blade I carry.” His eyes flutter shut as she kisses him again, and his arm tightens around her.

“It will need a name,” Rukia murmurs, and her hands slide from his cheeks down to his shoulders, pulling him closer. “But it’s beautiful. I’ll try to be worthy of wielding it.”

Ichigo bites her lower lip lightly. “You already _are_ ,” he insists, and then kisses her to take away any sting. He tips, slowly, back toward the end of the chaise and pulls her with him so that she is lying atop him. “Do you need me to convince you of that?”

Rukia’s cheeks flush a bright, pretty pink, and she drapes herself over him so that they are pressed together from shoulder to hip. “You do keep teasing me,” she murmurs.

“We haven’t actually been properly _alone_ until now,” Ichigo grumbles, and claims her mouth with his. She moves against him sweetly, mouth gasping against his, and he feels himself harden beneath her as her hips press close. His hand slides lower even as he licks into her mouth, and when Rukia _moans_ he can’t help the shiver that passes through him.

Then someone pounds on the door behind them and it bursts open. “Your Imperial Highness! Sir! There’s—” The voice falters and grows higher in pitch, “an urgent message.”

Ichigo’s head falls back against the chaise and he looks up at Rukia, whose face is beet red. “And I guess we aren’t anymore,” he mumbles, and sits them up. He shields Rukia as much as he can as he turns to face the messenger. “It must be _very_ urgent,” he says, a thread of warning in his voice, “For you to barge into my rooms uninvited.”

The young guard before him gulps, but straightens up. “Sir, the Lord Kuchiki is gravely ill. I have been instructed to send for Lady Kuchiki immediately.”

Ichigo’s arms tighten around Rukia as she jerks in his arms, all color gone from her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I did my best to accurately depict the forging processes that Ichigo uses to create Rukia's new blade, I'm not a blacksmith. The creation of a sword of this quality would normally take much longer than is depicted here; Ichigo's use of magic speeds up the process considerably.


	14. Things Come to a Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia hurries through the palace to reach her brother, while Ichigo sends Unohana after her and deals with a conversation he's been putting off. And then - her voice echoes through his head.

Rukia is convinced that she must be having an out of body experience. Ichigo’s voice sounds like it is coming from very far away, and she can barely feel his hands on her as he helps her to stand. She _can_ feel herself shaking, even as a wave of nausea passes over her.

Then: “Breathe, Rukia. In and out, that’s it,” Ichigo orders her. She sucks in air and the world stabilizes. Some of the numbness fades. “How long ago did the illness start?” Ichigo demands of the messenger. He grabs the white silk cloth from the floor and tosses it on the chaise. “Is Lord Kuchiki still in his townhome?”

“Ah – yes, your Imperial Highness,” the guard stammers out. “He took ill shortly before his midday luncheon. A healer was being summoned just as I left for the palace.”

“I have to go to him,” Rukia blurts out. “The elders are all hours away by carriage, I’m the only member of the clan here in the city.”

Ichigo brushes a hand against her back, radiating warmth and a thread of healing into her. “You’re to use my fastest carriage,” he orders the guard. Then, to Rukia: “I’ll send for Healer Unohana and have her join you.” He kisses her forehead lightly, just once, and strides with her to the door. His hand reaches for Zangetsu and hooks the sheathed sword to his belt; he does the same with the white blade he has forged for her.

They follow the guard from Ichigo’s quarters to the end of the hallway, and Ichigo squeezes her hand lightly. “I’m sure Byakuya will be fine,” he reassures her quietly as the guard waits nervously a few feet away. “Unohana will be able to heal him.”

Rukia nods tightly, but she leans up to brush her lips against his. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then turns to follow the guard. When she glances back, she sees Ichigo hurrying – almost _running_ – toward his destination. With a deep breath, she looks forward and clutches her skirt in one hand as she takes the stairs at a less-than-graceful run.

The guard must know some back way out of the palace, she thinks, or possibly to the carriage house. Though Rukia hasn’t been in the palace for long – and her memories of the palace layout are rusty – she’s sure this isn’t the _normal_ way down to the ground floor. They take several turns toward a part of the palace that she doesn’t recognize _at all_ , and Rukia has to lift her skirt above her ankles to keep up with her escort. “Ah – are you sure this is the way to the carriage house?” she asks finally. The walls are painted with ornate imagery that’s at least a hundred years out of date; this is an older part of the palace, she concludes.

“Through here, my lady,” the guard says, and skeptically, Rukia steps into the open doorway lined in black silk bunting.

“Ah, Lady Kuchiki,” a smooth voice greets as the heavy wooden door shuts behind her with a low thud. “It’s good to see you.”

She is standing in a throne room, she realizes, but a small one; the space is half the size of the receiving room where she was reintroduced to Ichigo. The walls are covered in panels of wallpaper painted with intricate flowers and birds. The room _smells_ old, as if it hasn’t been used very often. Rukia takes in all of that in within a second or two even as she takes an involuntary step back. Standing in front of her, clad in black robes, is Lord Sosuke Aizen. “I think I must have taken a wrong turn,” she says calmly, though it feels as though every hair on the back of her neck is standing on end and she wants nothing more than to fling blue fire at him. “I was on my way to the carriage house. You’ll have to excuse me, Lord Aizen.”

The smile that curves on his lips strikes her as both _smarmy_ and cold. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Lady Kuchiki. I instructed one of the palace guards to bring you here.”

“Well, this isn’t a particularly good time for a _chat_ ,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “My brother has taken ill. I’d be happy to have tea with you when I return from his side.” It’s a blatant lie – he makes her skin crawl – but she _needs_ to get to her brother. Rukia turns back toward the door – and a hand grasps her arm.

“That won’t be possible, Lady Kuchiki,” Aizen murmurs into her ear. “You see, I’ve never met a true Seer. And you would be ever so useful to me.” Before he can say anything more, Rukia kindles blue fire in her free hand and flings it at him, making him cry out with pain as the slithering magic bites at him. His hand falls from her arm and Rukia turns again toward the door.

Before she can reach it, Aizen grabs for her again. “As I said, Lady Kuchiki, that won’t be possible,” he says. “Now, why don’t you come sit with me and have some tea? We’ll talk about how you are going to help me rule the Seireitei Empire.”

“You’re the mind mage,” Rukia gasps out. “You tried to kill Ichigo and his sisters. I’m not going to help you rule _anything._ ” She brings up a shield and blue fire shoots through the air at him again, but Aizen’s eyes narrow and suddenly a jolt of pain explodes behind her eyes. She screams with the pain of it, and her shield shatters. The guard must have been sent by him, she realizes. There is some small comfort in the knowledge that Byakuya’s illness was almost certainly a ruse to get her away from Ichigo and the guards. But that is very small comfort indeed when another wave of pain rocks through her.

“I’m sure you’ll see that the Seireitei would benefit from a firm hand. And you will have _power_ , Lady Kuchiki. Is that not what you desire?” Aizen’s voice is smooth and persuasive, but all Rukia does is fling fire at him again, hands burning with it even as pain shoots through her entire body.

Behind the pain comes something new, though. Something that makes her shout, _Ichigo!_ through her mind, and hope that somehow, he or someone else will hear her.

* * *

Ichigo’s hurried steps take him past his office and then down several more hallways. Three guards rush to keep up with him, and others press themselves practically against the wall as he passes them, trying to get out of the way. Advisor Hitsugaya and his sister Karin are beside him suddenly, both looking concerned.

“Your Imperial Highness. Has something happened? Is it Lady Kuchiki?” Hitsugaya asks.

“Her brother has taken ill. I’m sending Lady Unohana to care for him,” Ichigo gets out. His strides are long, and they both break into a trot to keep up with him. Karin hitches up the skirt of her pitch-black dress to avoid tripping.

“That’s terrible,” Karin puts in. “What happened? Is she on her way to see him?”

“I don’t know. But yes, she is,” Ichigo grunts just before he bursts into the healing halls. Several healers look up at his arrival, eyes wide and a little panicked. But Lady Unohana just smiles calmly and offers him a bow. “Your Imperial Highness,” she greets. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Ichigo takes a deep breath to slow his heartrate. “Lord Kuchiki is ill. I need you to accompany his sister to their townhome and help him,” he orders. “I’m sending her in the fastest carriage on site.”

Unohana just bows again, the braid down her chest swinging lightly. “Of course, Sir. I will leave for the carriage house immediately.” She hurries into a small room off to one side of the healing space and emerges with a large bag. “Isane, you are in charge until I return,” she tells a young woman with silver-white hair before she hurries past Ichigo, Karin, and Hitsugaya.

“Lord Kuchiki will be in the best of hands,” Karin says when she is gone. “Lady Unohana is the best healer in the empire.”

Ichigo nods briefly, but then he turns and looks at his sister and his advisor, both standing _awfully_ close to each other. And he realizes he has something to distract him from worrying about Rukia and her brother. “It’s time we spoke about _this_ ,” he says, and gestures at them, a scowl on his face. “Come with me.”

Hitsugaya and Karin exchange a nervous look, but they follow him back out the double doors. The walk back to his office is long and conducted in awkward silence, as four other guards step away from the walls and follow them. Servants and guards rush by them with controlled urgency; Ichigo sees Uryuu hurrying with Lady Inoue down another corridor out of the corner of his eye. He isn’t sure what the rush is about, but there are enough things on his mind without worrying about his cousin.

When they finally reach his office, Ichigo gestures impatiently for Hitsugaya and Karin to sit on one of the benches after the door shuts behind them. “How long?” he asks.

A glance is exchanged. “How long _what,_ Ichigo?” Karin finally asks, arms crossing in front of her. But her posture is nervous, and she leans closer to Hitsugaya as she speaks.

Ichigo scowls and clarifies, “How long have you been _seeing_ one another without anyone knowing? Did our father know about this?”

“Sir, we haven’t been _seeing_ each other,” Hitsugaya protests calmly. “The Crown Princess has my utmost respect and I would never—”

“Does she.” Ichigo arches an eyebrow at him. “Karin is a _child_. And you – you were my father’s advisor for the two years before his death.” Heavy in his voice is the idea that Hitsugaya should _know_ better; the idea that his pursuit of Karin is a betrayal of Isshin’s trust.

“I’m sixteen, that’s hardly a child,” Karin protests, but Ichigo’s scowl silences her.

“As I said, Sir, the Crown Princess has my utmost respect. I would _never_ do anything to hurt her,” Hitsugaya continues. One hand clutches at the fabric of his black robes, but the other pulls at the shock of white hair on his head.

Ichigo just sits on the bench across from them, black robes draping around him, and stares. “How old are you, anyway?” he demands.

Hitsugaya scrubs the back of his neck with one hand, making his white hair stand up, and glances at Karin. “I’m seventeen.”

“You’re—what?” Ichigo stares at him again, flummoxed. “I thought you were just short.” The words earn a scowl from his advisor, and some of the anger leaves Ichigo’s posture. His attention turns to Karin. “Did you know that?”

Karin rolls her eyes at him. “Of _course_ I know that. Everyone knows that, Ichigo. You did too, before you became Emperor.”

Ichigo grumbles under his breath. “Fine, at least you’re not a lecher. But _you_ , Karin. You’re the _Crown Princess_. You can’t just run around flirting with my advisor.”

“As I said, Sir, I apologize for—” Hitsugaya stops when Ichigo holds up a hand.

“I have no interest in forcing you, or Yuzu, into a marriage for the sake of an alliance.” He directs these words to Karin, and sighs when her chin juts out stubbornly. “You,” he points at Hitsugaya, “Should do things properly if you’re going to do them at all. And you,” his finger moves to Karin, “Are _sixteen_ , and I’m not giving my permission for _anyone_ to court you until you’re within a sword’s length of eighteen.”

“But—”

Ichigo’s expression softens. “I’m not going to send Toshiro away,” he says. “But you are my little sister. And that’s my final word on it.”

Karin heaves a sigh, but though she pushes away from the bench and strides from the room, her expression is not so petulant as it was a moment ago.

“Sir, if you want me to resign—”

Ichigo pinches the bridge of his nose. “I _just_ told her that I’m not sending you away, Toshiro. But you _will_ _not_ be courting my sister for another eighteen months, or spending any time _alone_ with her.”

Hitsugaya bows stiffly. “I would not dream of dishonoring the Crown Princess,” he says through clenched teeth.

“I happen to know that.” The words come from his mouth mildly, and when his advisor straightens with a shocked look on his face, Ichigo raises an eyebrow. “Go coordinate with Zaraki and Shihouin. We still haven’t caught even a glimpse of this mind mage. See if anyone else in the guard can trace magic the way Rukia can. Otherwise we’re looking him or her blindly.”

Hitsugaya bows again and leaves the room without another word, leaving Ichigo alone. He brushes his hand over the hilt of the white sword at his side and takes a deep breath as he sits down behind his desk. There is a packet of papers to go through, and he uses that as a second distraction until his office door bursts open.

“Your Imperial Highness!” Hanatarou’s voice rings out nervously and Ichigo looks up from a report on the northern border towns. When he sees Byakuya _and_ Unohana with him, the former looking in perfect health, he stands so fast that his chair knocks over.

“Where’s Rukia?” he demands.

“I don’t know, Sir. I went down to the carriage house and the grooms said they hadn’t seen her,” Unohana explains as she sets her bag down. “On my way back into the palace I encountered Lord Kuchiki…”

“And I am not _gravely ill_ ,” the man reports, a thread of tension in his voice. “Nor did I send for my sister.”

The world tilts for a moment and Ichigo braces himself with a hand on his desk. Rukia is _missing_. The woman he – cares for deeply – is missing and probably in danger, and he _sent_ her into that danger without a second thought.

“Mind magic runs in your clan. Can you search for her?” he asks Byakuya. The man sinks onto one of the benches, black robes draping around him, and closes his eyes. The office is silent for a long moment. Then a trail of blood runs down from Byakuya’s nose, suddenly, and he gasps as he comes back to himself.

“There is a stronger mind mage than me blocking me from seeing her,” the clan head reports as he accepts a cloth from Unohana. “All I can tell is that my sister is still in the palace.”

Ichigo turns to Hanatarou next. “I want every guard in the palace looking for her,” Ichigo orders. “I just sent Hitsugaya to talk to Zaraki and Shihouin. Have them mobilize search parties. If we can—” He stops, suddenly, as Rukia’s voice shrieks _“Ichigo!”_ inside his head. The power of it sends him to the floor but he tries to hold onto her voice like a lifeline even as he stares wild-eyed at Byakuya. “Did you hear that? Can you trace her voice?”

The older man shakes his head again, but Ichigo can feel a _tugging_ , suddenly, and he growls, “I can _feel_ her. We need to move, _now_.” He hauls himself up and looks at Hanatarou again. “I need a contingent of guards to follow me. I think I can find her.”

Hanatarou darts from the room, Ichigo following behind in ground-eating strides. He can hear Byakuya and Unohana following him, but all he cares about is the tugging sensation that has wrapped itself in his chest, around his heart. The heavier footsteps of guards join in, but his whole world narrows to the tugging, to running through the hallways and stairs of the palace until they reach the door to the smallest throne room in the palace.

A pulse of energy rushes towards them and sends nearly every guard behind him to the ground; Ichigo feels a point of pain behind one eye but shakes it off. Unohana falls, but rises quickly from her prone position and begins to tend to the guards. Byakuya, thankfully, looks no more affected than he is, and when Ichigo gives him a questioning look the older man nods.

“Just us, then,” Ichigo says quietly, and stares at the door in front of him. He can feel Rukia behind it, but no voices escape the thick wooden door. He grasps the handle of the door and turns, but whomever Rukia is trapped inside with has locked it. Still, he is an expert in the metal arts, and so with a pathetically small trickle of magic he shears off the locking mechanism. He looks at Byakuya and holds up three fingers. Three seconds later, he grasps the door handle and throws it open.

He doesn’t expect to see – but somehow isn’t surprised by – the sight of Lord Sosuke Aizen sitting on the ornate wooden throne at the end of the room. The silver-haired man next to him must be Gin Ichimaru, based on Rangiku’s earlier description of him. And Rukia.

Rukia is on the floor, dead.

Only – she isn’t. The world tilts as Byakuya gestures violently, and instead Rukia is alive but bound by some invisible force, eyes wild as she glares at Aizen. There are drying tear tracks on her cheeks and the sleeve of her dress is ripped, but she looks otherwise largely unharmed.

“Lord Aizen,” Ichigo greets warily. One hand falls to his sword as he steps further inside. “And Gin, I presume. Rangiku’s doing better, now that she’s healed from whatever you did to her and ten of my people.” The words have an edge to them – and the fox-faced man twitches ever so slightly.

“Your Imperial Highness. Thank you so much for coming,” Aizen says smoothly, and rises from the chair. “It was so nice of your little Seer to lead you here.”

“Hn.” Ichigo doesn’t take his eyes off of Aizen, but he can see Byakuya doing – something – from the corner of his eye. “You should have left my Lady Kuchiki out of this,” he says, a hint of a growl in his voice. “But go ahead, Aizen. Tell me why you’re in my palace, sitting on my throne.”

“Ah, but she’s so very _valuable_ ,” Aizen purrs, and Ichigo can see Rukia shudder even as whatever is binding her loosens. “But the answer to your question is obvious, isn’t it? I’m here to take your throne. The Kurosaki family has turned a blind eye to the corruption in the empire, and to the depredations of Athal on the North. It’s time for a new dynasty to take the throne. And with Lady Kuchiki as my bride, I won’t have to _guess_ what the future holds. That’s why you wanted her, isn’t it, your Highness?”

Ichigo’s lip curls involuntarily, and he takes another step forward. “The empire isn’t perfect,” he agrees. “But _you’re_ a traitor to it, Aizen. Surrender, and I’ll have you exiled instead of killed outright.” He doesn’t bother to answer the nobleman’s question about Rukia, though he hopes she knows that of course that _isn’t_ why he’s pursued her.

Aizen raises a hand, but nothing happens, and beside him Byakuya just grunts. “Interesting. No wonder my attack didn’t work on you,” he says, a note of curiosity in his voice. “Ah, well. We must do this the messy way. Gin?”

Gin peels himself away from the wall beside the throne with a smirk. He has a long katana in his hand even as Ichigo blinks. He sheds his robe with a thought and kicks it behind him, then pulls Zangetsu from its sheath. “Byakuya,” he says in warning, and the older man nods briefly. As Byakuya steps to Rukia’s side, a blade in his hand, Gin comes at him.

Ichigo blocks one strike and parries another while a shield comes up around him, glimmering golden. Gin’s smirk widens, and suddenly as they fight his blade extends, missing Ichigo by a hair’s breadth as he dodges. “Interesting,” he comments, and goes on the offensive. He thrusts with Zangetsu and is blocked, but his off-hand kindles fire that he flings at Gin, who ducks. The flame hits the back wall instead. Ichigo clenches his hand and the fire snuffs out. Instead he sends air buffeting around Gin, unbalancing him, and takes advantage of the other man’s distraction to draw first blood and leave a shallow cut in his bicep.

Gin retaliates with another thrust of his extending katana, and Ichigo once more barely dodges, flame-bright hair spinning around him as he dances away from his opponent. They trade several blows without any landing, and Ichigo sends his magic into Zangetsu. For that is the power of the soul-steel core within the blade: a flicker of flame wraps around the pitch-black blade and the daito is lighter in his hand as he clashes with Gin again.

There are footsteps running outside the room, but Ichigo doesn’t dare take his attention from his enemy. At first he thinks they must belong to more guards, but there is a loud gasp, and Gin’s expression changes as he watches. “Ran,” he rasps, and Ichigo backs up a step as the blade in the other man’s hand wavers.

“Lady Matsumoto. It isn’t safe for you to be here,” Byakuya says calmly from his place next to Rukia.

Ichigo dares to look: Rukia is free once more and her eyes meet his. And he hears: _I’m fine. Pay attention to Gin. He’s a poisoner and experienced with the metal arts._ Ichigo bares his teeth but keeps his eyes on Gin. He thinks, _Guess you’re no longer blocked?_ and wonders if she hears it.

“Gin, what are you _doing?_ ” Rangiku demands.

“Stay out of this, Ran,” Gin advises, and attacks again. Ichigo blocks a flurry of blows as he tries to keep himself between Gin and Rangiku; he can sense her still standing near him despite Byakuya’s admonishment.

Then Aizen comes down from the throne, blade in one hand, and attacks Rukia, stabbing her. Ichigo roars and his magic sends a blast of air at Gin that throws him clear off his feet and into the wall. He slides down and lies still. The world tilts and rights itself, and Rukia isn’t injured – Byakuya has taken the blow himself and blood spills from a wound in his shoulder. She darts out of the way of her brother and her kidnapper, and Ichigo pulls the white katana from its sheath. He shoves it into her hands hilt-first when she gets close enough to him.

Rangiku runs past them, heedless of Byakuya and Aizen fighting, and flings herself at Gin. Ichigo glances at Rukia and they both fall into defensive positions. He spares a thought for the fact that she looks powerful and beautiful with the katana in her hand, its white star sapphire pommel gleaming in the light. They watch Byakuya fight, but – no matter how strong he is, he is losing blood and it’s obvious that Aizen is the stronger mind mage.

When Byakuya falls, Rukia screams and Aizen staggers back. “Well. It seems you’re even more special than I thought you were, Seer,” he drawls as he shakes Byakuya’s blood from his katana.

Rukia glares at him, violet eyes dark, and as Ichigo watches blue fire licks over her blade, burning the steel until it’s pure white. Then Aizen steps forward, and Ichigo is too busy fighting to think of anything but keeping Rukia safe and incapacitating the traitorous nobleman. Her blade follows his, but Aizen is _fast_ and whatever mind magic he is using affects Ichigo far more than it does Rukia. There is always a second when the illusion of something terrible happens and then the world rights itself. The illusion of Rukia is stabbed a dozen times in a transparent effort to rile and distract him.

Then Aizen’s blade comes down and Ichigo can’t dodge. But Rukia – Rukia is there, blade covered in blue fire and pushing Aizen with so much force that he stumbles while her blue fire bites at him. His black robes burn with it, ripped and ragged as Rukia strikes a second time. “You will _not_ ,” she says flatly, and from her off hand slithers another shot of the blue-hued magic. It wraps around him and Aizen groans with pain, but stands and attacks again.

Ichigo blocks a blow meant for Rukia, and the fight continues. Though they haven’t fought together in years and those were only spars, they don’t need to talk or even look at each other to work in tandem. Her blade attacks while his defends, and together they pen Aizen close to the throne, keeping him contained. Ichigo brings up a shield of magic as Aizen comes for him again.

Against the wall, Gin stands and pushes Ran away gently. Ichigo braces himself and catches Rukia’s eye. He doesn’t know who he’d rather fight – who Rukia would be safer fighting – but suddenly he doesn’t have time to worry about that. Gin is on him, and though they have an entire throne room the silver-haired man keeps him close to Aizen.

And then, almost as if it’s by accident, Gin’s blade extends and knicks Aizen’s arm. The brunet nobleman doesn’t even seem to notice and continues to fight Rukia, whose blue fire has burned him in several places. She is winded and panting – and so is Ichigo, though he’s trying to hide it.

Aizen staggers and Rukia lands a blow that pierces his chest and sends blood spilling down his silken robes. She falls back into a defensive position as he coughs and turns, suddenly, blade aimed at Gin. “You cut me,” he accuses, and shudders.

Gin blocks Ichigo’s next strike and smiles at Aizen, eyes opening wide. “You don’t even remember, do you?” he asks, and backs away from Ichigo, light on his feet and blade held high. “Killing Lady Matsumoto’s parents to try and stoke war with Athal.” As Aizen chokes and foamy spit spills from his mouth, Gin just watches him. “And your attack on the Emperor almost killed Ran, too. Shouldn’t have done that, Ai—” He gasps, all the air driven from his lungs, as Aizen stabs him in the chest.

Rangiku screams as Gin falls and rushes toward them, but Ichigo holds her off with his blade, its length thrown parallel to the floor to block her. “Does whatever you used have an antidote, Gin?” he asks, though he keeps his eyes on Aizen. The nobleman is choking and bent nearly double, blood spilling from blue lips.

“No. Too fast,” Gin rasps. His robes are wet with blood. “Dead in two minutes. Stronger than what I used in your tea.” The gurgling noise he makes tells Ichigo that Aizen’s sword pierced his lung.

Aizen stumbles back and falls, breathing ragged and shallow as he gasps for air. Rukia lowers her sword and hurries to her brother’s side instead. “He’s still breathing,” she reports. “Brother, can you hear me?” He groans softly in response, and Rukia clutches his hand tightly.

“Lady Unohana!” Ichigo shouts, and he can hear the swish of robes signifying the healer’s presence in the doorway. He turns his head, and she is there, face calm. “I’m afraid I need your help.” He sheathes his sword. “Lord Kuchiki and Gin Ichimaru need immediate medical assistance.”

“And Lord Aizen, your Imperial Highness?” Unohana asks as she steps forward and kneels at Byakuya’s side. “These wounds are quite bad. I suppose you need my assistance after all, Lord Kuchiki,” she murmurs, even as her hands begin to glow briefly.

“Hn.” Ichigo looks at Aizen, who is struggling to breathe. His face has taken on an ashen tone and his blue lips open and close as he gasps for air. His magic trickles toward the nobleman, but the poison slips from his grasp and Ichigo shakes his head. Then he looks at Gin, whose blood coats Rangiku’s hands as she cries over him. “I’ll hold Gin stable. Rukia, can you?” He doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. She rises from her brother’s side and hurries to the doorway. In a moment the sound of boots running echoes down the hallway.

“I’ve sent for additional healers,” Rukia reports as Ichigo kneels and holds his hand over Gin’s body. She kneels on Gin’s other side and gently wipes Rangiku’s hands clean of blood with a strip torn from her dress. “Ichigo and the healers will help him,” she whispers soothingly and huffs out a breath when the larger woman throws herself on Rukia. Rukia rubs Rangiku’s back gently as she sobs, though she keeps her attention shifting between Byakuya and Ichigo.

Ichigo sends magic flowing downward, seeking the damaged blood vessels and tissue. His healing abilities are not nearly as good as his other skills, and they certainly aren’t the equal of Unohana’s, but by the time Isane Kotetsu and a slight blonde woman arrive, Gin isn’t struggling quite so hard to keep breathing. He privately wonders whether Gin would have preferred _not_ to be healed, for there will be consequences for his actions – but the man is unconscious and can’t be consulted.

“We’ll take over, your Imperial Highness,” Isane says immediately, and kneels at Gin’s side. “Check the other man,” she orders her companion, who drops to her knees beside Aizen.

After a long moment, she shakes her head. “Lord Aizen is dead,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t blood loss.”

“It was poison,” Ichigo explains. “Gin Ichimaru said it was stronger than Night’s Slippers.” He rises to his feet and looks at Rangiku, who is still crying on Rukia’s shoulder. Additional healing assistants pile into the room, several of them carrying stretchers.

“Ah, good. Ishibashi and Hoga, please transport Lord Kuchiki to the healing halls. Miki and Kase, you will transport Gin Ichimaru,” Unohana orders calmly despite the fact that her robes are wet with Byakuya’s blood. “Please be gentle but efficient, as both men have suffered serious injuries. Oka and Sakai, bring Lord Aizen’s body as well. By your leave, your Imperial Highness?” she asks.

Ichigo nods shortly. “Thank you, Lady Unohana.” He watches as Byakuya is lifted onto a stretcher, and helps Rukia hold Rangiku back as the same is done for Gin.

“But…” Rangiku pleads, and Rukia hushes her gently.

“Of course you can go with him, Rangiku, but let the healers have room to work,” she soothes. Byakuya is carried out first, followed by Gin, and Rangiku hurries out after them. The assistants are less gentle with Aizen’s body, and then only Ichigo and Rukia are in the blood-spattered room.

He pulls her into his arms, wrapping himself around her tightly. “I should never have let you go down to the carriage house by yourself,” Ichigo whispers into her hair. His entire body is shaking as he holds her, and her slender arms come up around his waist. “Did Aizen do anything to you? I heard your voice in my _head_.” He thinks he’s babbling, but all he can do is stand there, shaking against her.

“You had no reason to suspect your own guard,” Rukia murmurs in return. “Aizen tried to attack me with his powers. I think he broke the block on my mind magic,” she says with a hiccup of wet laughter. “But – Ichigo, I need to be with my brother.”

“I’ll come with you. You should be looked over by a healer. I just – you could have been killed,” Ichigo growls, and pulls back to cover her lips with his in a searing kiss, one that she returns with equal fervor.

“You could have, too,” she whispers into his mouth. When they part, Rukia picks up her katana and looks at it. The blade is white as snow from being burned with her blue fire, and she says, “Sode no Shirayuki,” as Ichigo hands her the sheath.

“Hm?”

“Her name. Sode no Shirayuki seems to fit, somehow.” Rukia slides the katana home and takes Ichigo’s hand when he offers it.

“That’s a good name,” he agrees as he walks her to the door. They leave behind the bloodied floors and walk toward the healing halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not surprisingly, this will need more than one more chapter to wrap up. I'm currently predicting two more chapters plus an epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed reading The Emperor Makes a Match so far. Please do leave a comment if you're so inclined - I love to read them!


	15. About Her Past - and the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya, injured and on bedrest, tells Rukia more about her past, while Ichigo considers what to do about Ichimaru. Orihime and Uryuu get their hands on Rukia and prepare her for an important upcoming event.

Rukia stops a servant on the way to the healing halls, asking the solemn, dark-haired woman to see to it that the smallest throne room is cleaned of blood. Her eyes go wide as saucers and Rukia tries for a reassuring smile as she says, “There was an altercation, but everything will be fine now.”

“Yes, Lady Kuchiki,” the servant says and bows to them both before hurrying back in the direction from which she came. The wide-legged trousers she wears swing around her feet as she goes.

Rukia half-expects Ichigo to say something about ordering around _his_ servants, but he just squeezes her hand lightly. “This will spread through the palace like wildfire, you know,” he points out as they walk quickly down another hallway. They aren’t _running_ , but it’s a close thing by the time they get to the healing halls.

“Well,” Rukia murmurs as a guard bows and then holds the door open for them both. “I suppose it can’t be helped. A nobleman is dead, and his accomplice is in the care of _your_ healers.”

Ichigo takes a shaky breath and keeps his hand wrapped around hers. “No, I suppose not.”

As the doors shut behind them, Rukia can smell the herbs and potions that the healers use; there are privacy screens drawn around two beds, and at a look from her the silver-haired healer, Isane Kotetsu hurries over. Rukia doesn’t need her guidance; she can feel which bed holds Byakuya. But she _is_ in the other woman’s domain, and so she waits until the healer reaches them.

“Your Imperial Highness, Lady Kuchiki,” she greets and bows low. “Lord Kuchiki is awake and asking for you both. Gin Ichimaru is under guard, although Lady Matsumoto refuses to leave his side.” There is something faintly disapproving in her voice, but Isane gestures at the closest bed. “Lord Kuchiki is just this way.”

Ichigo’s hand falls to the small of Rukia’s back. “I would like Lady Kuchiki to be examined after she visits her brother,” he says to Isane.

“I’m _fine_ , Ichigo,” she protests, but there is something stubborn in the set of his mouth and the furrowing of his brow that makes the words come out weaker than she intends.

“You were attacked by a mind mage and your magic has changed,” Ichigo says emphatically as he leads her to Byakuya’s bedside. The clan head is seated, propped up against pillows and with bandaging wrapped around his chest and upper arm. At their appearance he tries to sit up further, but as Rukia watches, Ichigo gently presses a hand to his uninjured shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that. Lady Unohana can be very cross when her instructions aren’t followed.”

Unohana, who is marking something down on her paperwork, bows to Ichigo; a smile plays on her lips as she rises. “It is important that you listen to the instructions of the palace healers,” she agrees. “After all, your life is in our hands.” Then with another smile, she steps around the privacy curtain and leaves them be.

“She’s a little scary,” Rukia says with a laugh before she sits in the narrow chair next to Byakuya’s bed. She can’t help the way her smile falls away then, and one hand reaches out to touch his. “I’m sorry you were injured, brother,” she apologizes, and ducks her head. “I thought you were ill, and in my haste to get to you I fell into a trap.”

Byakuya sighs, a faint sound that she’s not sure she’s ever heard him make before. “You showed only the care and loyalty that a sister gives to a brother, Rukia,” he says solemnly. “Even though I am only your adoptive sibling.”

“Blood doesn’t matter!” Rukia blurts out. “You took me in and – and treated me as your own. And you…” Ichigo’s hand falls to her shoulder and squeezes lightly. “You treated me as someone worthy of presenting to the _Emperor_.”

“Hn.” Byakuya’s gray eyes focus on her. “Hisana was from an old clan,” he says suddenly, and Rukia sits up very straight. She can feel the way Ichigo’s hand tightens – just enough to show her that he is there. Though she doesn’t need his hand on her to prove it; she can _feel_ him, can hear the surface-level thoughts that run through his mind. She wants to chase them down, but her brother is speaking.

“I discovered the story only after her death. The Mitehasu clan was thought to have died out twenty years ago, after an attack on their holdings killed the entire family. But two bodies were never found: the two youngest daughters. One was just a little girl, not even two years old.”

Rukia’s chest feels tight, and she sucks in air as she looks at her brother. She can hear _his_ thoughts too: she can hear the guilt that he does not show and the shame of having kept this from her. “Hisana and me,” she whispers. “But – no one ever looked for us.”

“No,” Byakuya agrees. “The rival clan took over the land. But your clan was known for their battle and mind magics, Rukia,” he says quietly. “And when I asked questions, while trying to find you, there were whispers that every fifty years or so the clan birthed a Seer. It’s what the clan name meant – seeing lotus.”

She can’t breathe. She can’t _think._ Byakuya’s guilt is swirling inside her head and Ichigo’s shock is as well, and she can’t _breathe_ – Ichigo’s hand clamps down on her shoulder and she feels a trickle of his magic flow into her. It’s enough to calm her down, to let her focus on her brother. “I had a family,” she whispers. “We weren’t just abandoned.”

Byakuya shakes his head. “I am sure that your parents cared for you very much. The holdings are gone, but you could try to claim the clan name. It would mean giving up your Kuchiki name, but blood is blood.”

Rukia shakes her head vehemently. “No! No. Brother, you gave Hisana and I a place in your clan. I don’t want to claim another clan name as my own.” Then her cheeks flush and her free hand reaches up to touch Ichigo’s lightly. “Well. Not unless I marry,” she allows. Ichigo’s hand squeezes again, gently.

“You will keep my sister safe now that this business with Aizen is done,” Byakuya says, and his attention focuses on Ichigo. She can’t see the expression on his face, but she can feel the way Ichigo bows, ever so slightly.

“I will, but you and I both know that she will stand in her own defense as well.” Ichigo’s voice is a little rough as he says the words, and Rukia feels the sudden line of tension in his arm. She can hear _his_ guilt, too. It’s different than the way she feels Byakuya’s guilt; there is something deeper there that Rukia doesn’t know how to explain or even begin to explore. “We made the courtship agreement official this morning, and I gave Rukia the blade you saw her wield.”

Byakuya does sit up a little more at that. “Show me,” he says, and Rukia places the sheathed blade in his lap. He looks it over carefully, examining the hilt and pommel, as well as the sheathe. He draws the katana carefully and looks that over as well. The blade is still white as driven snow, and Rukia wonders at the fact that her magic, ordinarily useless for crafting, has taken Ichigo’s work of art and changed it. “The White Snow Sapphire. You chose well your Imperial Highness; your grandfather gifted this sapphire to his bride before their marriage, and you honor my sister with it now.”

The words are sincere, Rukia can tell – because she can hear them before he says them, like some kind of pre-echo. In fact, when she thinks about what she can ‘hear’, even a little, there are more thoughts beyond Ichigo and Byakuya’s. Isane Kotetsu’s thoughts are there as well, considering the inventory of potions and bandages, while other healers are nervous about the presence of the Emperor. Rangiku is _loud_ in her head, a locus of anguish as she cries over Gin’s wounds and the mess he has gotten himself into. Ichigo – well, his thoughts are quiet but emphatic, wanting to wrap her up in his arms and keep her safe. Wanting to keep her by his side. Wanting – well. Wanting. Rukia desperately tries not to blush at that.

Byakuya yawns, then, and Rukia stands and takes back her katana without being prompted. “You should rest, brother. Thank you for telling me about – about where I come from.” She bows to him, and hurries around the privacy screen. Ichigo steps around the screen a moment later, but when she looks up at him questioningly, he just leans down and kisses her temple.

“I need to speak with Ichimaru,” he tells her, and together they step around the other screen. Ichimaru is in worse shape than Byakuya: his chest is swathed in blood-spotted bandages and he is flat on his back. Rangiku sits beside him, tear tracks streaked down her face. A guard stands by the bedside as well, as does Yoruichi, and they come to attention and bow deeply at the sight of the Emperor. Rangiku staggers out of her chair and curtsies.

“Your Imperial Highness, please! Please, don’t have him executed,” she begs before Ichigo can say anything. Rukia tsks and hurries around to the other side of the bed, wrapping an arm around Rangiku and pushing her back into the chair. Yoruichi sniffs and tosses her hair at the display.

Ichigo grimaces and looks down at Gin. “Are you awake to hear me, Ichimaru?” he asks.

The other man’s eyes struggle open. “Your Imperial Highness,” he manages. “Sorry for not standin and bowin’.”

“I’m not concerned with that,” Ichigo retorts. “I want to know what role you played in Aizen’s plan to kill my family.”

“I arranged the attack on your sisters. Glad Kuchiki ruined it.” Gin drags in a breath and winces, a hand coming up to his chest. “Wasn’t personal. Aizen…killed Rangiku’s family. Killed my family, too. I needed to get close to him.”

Rukia watches as Ichigo scrubs a hand over his face. Yoruichi drops a hand to her sword. “Trying to assassinate a member of the royal family is a capital crime,” the head of the elite women’s guard reminds them all. “And you tried to kill _two._ Not to mention the Emperor’s intended.”

“I know. Didn’t think I’d live through killing Aizen. Stupid of me – I wanted him to die when he thought he was going to win,” Gin mumbles.

Rangiku is crying, a fist pressed against her mouth stifling her sobs, and Ichigo sighs heavily. “Lady Matsumoto, _please_ ,” he says. When she looks up at him, pale eyes reddened and streaming tears, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to make yourself sick. The fact that Ichimaru killed a traitor is a…mitigating factor. I will need to consult with my advisors. But for now, Ichimaru will stay here under guard and under the care of Lady Unohana. It would help your case if you tell Lady Yoruichi _everything_ that you know about Aizen’s plans for Athal.”

“More than I deserve,” Gin says quietly. “Please – don’t blame Ran. She didn’t know anything. Only told her to go back south, right before Aizen attacked you.” The words prompt another sob from Rangiku, and Rukia rubs her back gently.

Ichigo grunts under his breath. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he agrees. He steps back around the curtain and Rukia pats Rangiku lightly.

“His Imperial Highness is a good man,” she whispers. “Make sure Ichimaru tells the truth about Aizen. All of it.”

Rangiku takes a deep breath and scrubs at her eyes. “I will,” she says quietly. Then she jokes weakly, “You’re lucky, the Emperor is hot even when he’s fighting.” The guard looks positively _scandalized_ , but Yoruichi actually laughs.

“His Imperial Highness is a very attractive man,” Rukia says primly – but then she winks at Rangiku. “ _Especially_ when fighting.”

Ichigo is waiting for her when she leaves Rangiku’s side, and at his insistence she allows Lady Unohana to examine her. The healer holds her head in one hand and lets the other pass over her, then checks over her arms and legs carefully. The woman stares into her eyes so intently that it makes Rukia nervous, but the whole exam is over in only a few minutes, and then Unohana nods once to Ichigo. “Lady Kuchiki is perfectly well, your Imperial Highness.” She turns back to Rukia. “You will need training to manage your mind magic, but you appear to have suffered no ill effects from your ordeal,” she pronounces.

“I did say that I was fine,” Rukia says, her tone a bit petulant to her own ears. The constant press of others’ thoughts into her mind is already becoming tiresome and irritating – but at least she knows that she isn’t going mad.

“And now so has someone who is actually trained as a healer,” Ichigo agrees, and helps Rukia up from her seat on a chair. He nods briefly to Unohana. “Thank you, Lady Unohana. I hope that I won’t be spending so much time here in the future.”

Unohana bows to him and smiles as she says, “It is my fond hope that we will not have such exalted company again until next year, your Imperial Highness.”

Rukia blinks. “Next year?” she asks.

“Indeed, Lady Kuchiki.” And Unohana turns her smile on the young noblewoman. The look – and the faint thought she picks up from Unohana’s mind – clarifies things, and she flushes brightly.

“Ah – perhaps a little longer than that, Lady Unohana. But someday, I am sure,” she stammers. Ichigo is looking down at her curiously, but eventually _he_ understands the exchange as well. Rukia can feel it in his mind, and the red flush that spreads across his cheeks is another tell-tale sign. He nods to Unohana once more and steers Rukia from the room deftly.

“I need to speak with my advisors about…all of this,” Ichigo grumbles when the doors have closed behind them. “But I don’t want to leave you alone. Who knows whether Aizen had someone else in his pocket?” His arm slides around her waist, keeping her close.

The guards around them do an admirable job of looking away, although Rukia suspects they haven’t had to ignore mooning royals since the Empress Masaki’s death. Their minds press, faint embarrassment and a little jealousy from one of them. “I’ll be _fine_ ,” she promises. “Assign guards to me if it would make you feel better. I’ll return to my room and see if Orihime is there.” She glances down at her dress, which is ripped and bloodied. “I really should change, as well.”

Ichigo rubs the back of his head, and that flush returns to his cheeks. “Ah, when I started sending the other noblewomen home, Junior Advisor Yamada rearranged your rooms. Lady Inoue is near Karin and Yuzu.”

Rukia raises an eyebrow. “And am I rooming with her?”

“Ah…” Ichigo repeats, and glances around at the guards and clears his throat. “I don’t believe so.” When Rukia just raises a dark eyebrow and looks at him, he leans close and murmurs, “I believe you are closer to my rooms.”

Her cheeks heat and so do his, but – Rukia knows that Ichigo still needs to meet with his advisors and probably take care of the other things that need to happen when the Emperor of the Seireitei, the woman he is courting, and a supposed traitor come together to thwart a kidnapping and attempted assassination.

“Lady Kuchiki!”

Their heads turn nearly in unison at the sound of Lieutenant Arisawa’s voice. The young guard bows as she reaches them. “It’s already spreading all over the palace. Are you unharmed, your Imperial Highness? Lady Kuchiki?” she asks.

The expression on Ichigo’s face softens. “Lieutenant Arisawa. Yes, we’re both fine. But I need to handle the fallout. Will you take Lady Kuchiki back to her rooms? She’d like to change, and after all the excitement I prefer that she has an escort.”

Oddly, Rukia hears _Well that makes my job easier_ from Lieutenant Arisawa, though she senses no malice in the words. Amusement seems to flit across the lieutenant’s face, but she bows again. “I’m familiar with the lady’s new room assignment. Of course I’ll escort her.”

Rukia squeezes Ichigo’s hand gently as they part where the hallway splits, and she follows Lieutenant Arisawa. Though each doorway still bears mourning bunting, the walls become more and more ornate as they walk, and soon enough Rukia realizes – she’s back in the wing that belongs to the emperor and empress. “I didn’t think there were rooms for guests in this part of the palace,” she finally says as they walk toward a set of pale, gilded doors guarded by two men in uniform. She can feel _amusement_ in Lieutenant Arisawa’s thoughts, and other presences as well – Orihime and Lord Ishida, she thinks.

“There aren’t,” the lieutenant confirms. Then she looks Rukia over and says, “I’m still pissed that you left the guard, you know.” Rukia just arches an eyebrow. “But I’m glad it’s you that the Emperor picked. At least you’re not useless in a fight.”

Rukia’s laughter echoes through the hallway as the doors swing open before them – and catches in her throat as she realizes exactly where they are. “This is the Empress’ suite,” she accuses. Even just by looking through the doors it is clear that the room is one of the finest in the palace: a sunny sanctuary of soft silks and open space. Rukia glances down the hallway, where another set of doors lead the way into _Ichigo’s_ rooms.

“Rukia! _Finally!_ ” Soft hands reach for her and Rukia jolts as Orihime drags her inside, Tatsuki following behind. “I heard what happened, are you _alright?_ Is his Imperial Highness safe? Oh, look at your dress, maybe Uryuu knows how to get blood out of silk so that we can salvage it. But oh, we have to get you fitted —”

“Orihime!” Rukia finally exclaims, and the other woman stops speaking, though tears shimmer in her eyes. She lets out a grunt as Orihime throws her arms around her, and all Rukia can do for a moment is pat Orihime on the back gently with her free hand. “I’m _fine_ ,” she says, when her shoulder is a bit damp. “So is the Emperor. But what do you need to get me fitted for?”

“The courtship announcement,” Uryuu says from his place on a long chaise upholstered in dark blue silk velvet. He stands and adjusts his spectacles, pushing them further up his nose.

She blinks owlishly at him, and gently disentangles herself from Orihime as the doors close behind her. “What announcement? Ichigo didn’t say anything…” Rukia glances down at the katana in her hand. “I suppose we didn’t have time to discuss it before…everything happened. Wait, how do _you_ know about it?” But suddenly she already knows that, too, and Rukia is already convinced that she needs lessons in controlling her mind magic as soon as possible.

Because even before Orihime and Uryuu look at each other and blush brightly, Rukia says, “It’s your courting announcement too.” And she pulls Orihime into a hug as she smiles at Uryuu.

“Yes! It wouldn’t be, normally, but Uryuu and his Imperial Highness are cousins, and because we’re in mourning it can’t be as big as usual,” Orihime explains.

“My father let me know that the announcement and dinner won’t be for three more days. But Orihime tells me that you’re in need of a gown,” Uryuu says calmly. “I understand that your dressmaker’s efforts did you no favors.”

Rukia laughs helplessly. “They didn’t,” she agrees, and yelps again as Orihime drags her toward a tall, ice-blue silk changing screen in a corner of the room. “Is that…why you’re here?”

“His Imperial Highness might not mind you in sackcloth, but as the future empress you need to make an impression,” Uryuu calls as Orihime takes the katana from Rukia’s fingers and helps her out of her torn and somewhat bloodied dress.

“We’ve just started _courting,_ isn’t it a little early to call me the ‘future empress’?”

“Maybe if the Emperor wasn’t so utterly _gone_ on you,” Orihime retorts. She pulls the first dress, a mint green confection, from a pile, and helps Rukia shimmy into it.

Two of Ichigo’s advisors catch up to him before he can even reach his office. “Your Imperial Highness! I have General Zaraki’s men looking for Lady Kuchiki,” Advisor Hitsugaya reports as he quickens his pace to keep up.

Ichigo takes a deep breath and opens his mouth, but Kyouraku comes around the corner and nearly runs them both over in his haste. “Your Imperial Highness! Aizen’s the mind mage – and he tried to make Juushiro and I forget that we’d found him out!” the older man exclaims.

“I know,” the Emperor announces, and throws open his office door. He steps inside as the two men gape at him, and waves away the bows Ukitake and Ryuuken Ishida offer him.

“Sorry – you _know_?” Hitsugaya sputters as they follow him.

“I know, and he’s dead. He tried to use Lady Kuchiki as bait to get to me, and it backfired.” Ichigo’s voice is clipped as he looks them over. “I have a dead nobleman in my palace, and his accomplice, the man who organized the attack on my sisters, is in the healing halls.”

They are all staring at him. Hitsugaya is the first to recover, and he asks sharply, “Why is his accomplice being healed? He should be interrogated and executed for trying to assassinate the princesses!”

“Because he killed Aizen when the man attacked Lady Kuchiki and I,” Ichigo explains. “Lady Kuchiki is unharmed and so am I. Aizen injured Lord Kuchiki, who is recovering in the healing halls as well.”

Kyouraku drops into the seat next to his husband and scrubs a hand through his dark, curly hair. “So he tried to kill your sisters and save you. And you don’t want him executed,” he surmises.

Ichigo huffs and drops into his chair. “Aizen was planning something related to Athal. Ichimaru may know about it. Lady Shihouin was interrogating him when I left the halls,” he explains. “And Lady Matsumoto begged for his life.”

Advisor Ishida scoffs. “Do you plan to listen to every woman who begs for her lover’s life?”

But Ukitake nods solemnly from his position next to Kyouraku. “Execution may not be necessary, but there must be consequences for his actions,” he points out quietly. “Imprisonment, perhaps.”

That strikes Ichigo as the wrong choice, just as much as death does. “He’s a poisoner, and skilled with the material arts. He was able to make his sword extend and retract in battle. I’d prefer to make use of his skills, if I don’t order his execution.”

“Hn. Does he speak Athalan, or the northern dialects?” Ishida asks. “He looks Athalan, from the way Shihouin described him to me. If the situation with Athal is deteriorating, you’ll need a man on the border. A spy, and a poisoner if things get out of hand.”

“An exile on the surface,” Hitsugaya muses. “Do you think he’ll be loyal to you, Sir?”

Ichigo scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand, flame-bright hair tangling in his fingers. “He’s loyal to Lady Matsumoto. _She’s_ the reason he betrayed Aizen.”

“Then keep the woman as a hostage,” Ishida suggests with a shrug. He scoffs again when his fellow advisors stare at him. “You’re young, Sir, but you can’t gain a reputation for being _soft_.”

“Make her one of Lady Kuchiki’s ladies in waiting,” Kyouraku suggests easily. “Ichimaru will get the message: Lady Matsumoto holds an honored position and lives in safety as long as he serves the Empire.”

“Fine,” Ichigo decides. “Better that than waste his skills and make an enemy of her. Keep him under guard in the healing halls until he’s fully healed, and then arrange for it.”

“I’ll tell Zaraki that he can call off the search for Lady Kuchiki and the mind mage,” Hitsugaya says when silence has filled the room. “I assume Lady Shihouin has already done the same for her guards.”

“I want the palace searched thoroughly for any more of his magical traps,” Ichigo orders. “And have his rooms searched as well. And – he manipulated a guard with his magic. It’s possible he’s done the same to others or left behind another accomplice. Have Kenpachi and Shihouin keep their guards on the alert.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hitsugaya says with a bow. He leaves with a sweep of black robes and so does Advisor Ishida.

That leaves Kyouraku and Ukitake, both of whom are looking rather shamefaced at their ruler. Ukitake opens his mouth – perhaps to apologize – but Ichigo holds up a hand. “Aizen was stronger than we thought, but he’s dead. Lady Kuchiki is safe,” he says before either man can say anything, and stands. “I need to—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. There is a pull within him – and Ichigo knows exactly where it leads. He strides from his office, following it.

Ichigo doesn’t even have to knock before the guards at the doors to the empress’s suite open the doors for him. Lieutenant Arisawa and Uryuu both bow to him, which Ichigo waves off. He can hear faint laughter coming from behind the ice-blue silk screen in the corner, and the sound brings a smile to his face. Just the sound of Rukia’s laughter eases something he didn’t know was wrong, and lets him relax his shoulders.

The rooms themselves, well – the sight of them is bittersweet. He knows for a fact that they have been unoccupied and left largely untouched since his mother’s death over a decade ago. But the suite itself looks almost exactly like it did when she was alive; someone must have been maintaining it, he supposes. The walls are covered in panels of cream-colored silk. Some are embroidered and painted with soothing landscapes, while others are left pristine. Sunlight streams in through arched windows and skylights, and the furniture is plush and luxurious, but not garish.

Carved doors, left halfway open, lead into the bedroom and Ichigo can see that the huge bed is covered in a plush, cream-colored silk comforter and a ludicrous number of pillows embroidered in pale blue and lavender. Those seem new – he doesn’t think that his mother slept in the empress’s suite very much. He doesn’t really want Rukia to sleep here, either.

The silk walls and, indeed, everything else disappears when Rukia steps around the silk screen. She is in plum-hued silk chiffon, and the gown is the most revealing thing he has ever seen her wear. The color of it deepens the shade of her eyes, he thinks. The neckline is low, a deep vee that ends just between her breasts, and instead of proper sleeves, layers of sheer silk flow from her shoulders and leave her arms bare. Ornate silver filigree wraps around her waist, cinching the gown tight to her slender form, and more silk spills down her legs and trails behind her. Rukia’s midnight-dark hair flows loose to her waist except for a few locks that have been caught up and pinned.

Ichigo already knew that Rukia is beautiful, but he has never seen her look like _this_. Her cheeks flush as he looks at her, but her eyes don’t leave his. One hand clenches and then loosens forcibly; he watches as Rukia reaches for and then pulls her hands away from clutching at her skirt.

Lady Inoue has been at work, he supposes, as the other woman steps out from behind the screen and squeaks at the sight of him. “Your Imperial Highness!” she exclaims, and curtsies deeply. But Ichigo and Rukia just stand opposite one another and look at each other. Eventually Lady Inoue rises from the curtsy awkwardly and looks at Ishida.

“This is the dress,” Uryuu says into the silence, “for your courtship announcement, Sir.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge his cousin, but steps forward and touches Rukia’s cheek with one hand. There isn’t a drop of blood on her and this isn’t the ripped dress, but for a moment Ichigo sees her as she was just a few hours ago, wielding a white katana and fighting for her life. Without a word, Ichigo sweeps her into his arms. Rukia opens her mouth to protest, but at a look from him she wraps her arms around his neck as he carries her toward the doors that separate the empress’s rooms from his suite. They’re open already and he strides through them, then turns and stops in the doorway. “I don’t want to be disturbed again unless the entire palace is on fire and Athal’s army is at the gates.”

Then Ichigo uses a trickle of his magic to turn the hinges and slam the doors shut with a low bang as Lady Inoue, his cousin, and Lieutenant Arisawa stare at them, mouths dropped open. When they are alone, Ichigo lowers his head and covers Rukia’s lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this chapter is a bit later than I'd intended as I've been preparing for IchiRuki week in the Seireitei Discord Server (which starts on the 24th!) and was traveling this weekend. I'm currently planning for a fic every day of IR week, plus a Halloween story. If you'd like to join in the festivities by writing or creating other fanworks for the week, please see [the AO3 collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeireiteiDiscordIRweek) for prompts.


	16. Joining Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Ichigo and Rukia have time together free of assassins, of power-hungry noblemen, and other distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is finally, finally here, and there will be no interruptions. Please note the rating change.

As the doors slam shut, Rukia can hear the shock in the minds of Orihime, Lord Ishida, and Tatsuki. But then Ichigo kisses her, and the voices go silent. His mouth feels so _good_ on hers, soft but demanding, and she can’t help the way she gasps when he tightens his hold on her. They are moving, then, through the living area she was in only hours ago and into the bedroom. The thought of it sends a flash of heat through her. He’s been _teasing_ her, hinting for days, and she swears if another person interrupts them, she’ll blast them with blue fire.

When Ichigo sets her down on her feet again they are next to his bed, an absurdly large piece of furniture covered in white and blue silk. He kisses her again, and Rukia’s eyes flutter shut as his hands touch her bare arms, hot but gentle against her skin. But she stops him when his hands slide up to touch fabric, one hand quickly reaching up to still his.

“Rukia?” There is a low note of strain in his voice but Ichigo asks her, “Do you want to stop?” as though he’s done more than kiss her.

A smile curves over her lips. “No,” she whispers. “But if we damage this gown, I think Lord Ishida and Lady Inoue will kill us both, even if they can repair it with magic.”

The words startle a laugh from Ichigo and his lips touch hers again. “We’ll have to be very careful then,” he agrees. His hands lower to the cage of silver filigree around her waist, and he finds the clasp with questing fingertips. With a flick the clasp opens and he pulls it from her waist, setting it aside on a nearby nightstand. His lips find hers again and his arm wraps around her, pressing her against him from her shoulders to her knees.

The quiet of being with him lulls Rukia for a moment; in his arms her mind is free of the noise of others’ thoughts. She can hear only _his_ , sense only the way he feels about having her so close to him. “Is that… is that really what you feel for me?” she asks against his lips.

Ichigo’s eyes open, honeyed amber as they look into hers, and his lips curve. “What did you hear?” he asks softly. His free hand comes up to touch her cheek lightly.

“That – that you…” She stops, flushed again.

“That I love you?” Ichigo prompts. There is color in his cheeks as well, but he doesn’t look away from her as he says the words. “Because it’s true. I’m in love with you.”

Rukia leans up to kiss him again, her smile mirroring his. “I’m in love with you, too,” she tells him quietly, and feels the way his heart leaps at the words even before his eyes brighten and his arm tightens around her. “But I also heard that you _want_ me.”

“Well.” Ichigo doesn’t look even the slightest bit embarrassed. “I think you knew that already, since I just slammed some doors in the faces of my cousin and two of your friends.”

The words make her laugh, too. “You’d better hope they alert the guards at the doors to _your_ suite, or we might get interrupted again,” she points out. When Ichigo scowls at her she kisses the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure they will.”

Her lips soften the scowl on his, and his hand rubs along her back gently, finding the lace and hooks that run along the back seam of the purple gown. Ichigo turns her in his arms and gently pushes the heavy fall of her hair to one side and then forward so that it drapes down her chest. “I’ll be careful,” he promises before Rukia can remind him. She wonders if he can hear her thoughts – he hasn’t said that he’s a mind mage, but he heard her when she projected so strongly, earlier.

Ichigo’s fingers gently separate the metal hooks and eyes and then loosen the laces of her gown until it gapes open at her shoulders. “I can hear you sometimes,” he acknowledges as he helps her push the gown from her shoulders and then step out of it. Before it can fall to the floor, he catches it at the waist and then drapes the mass of purple chiffon carefully over the chaise at the foot of his bed.

“Really?” she asks, although she is standing before him wearing a silk slip with wide straps and a swath of white fabric wrapped around her breasts beneath that. Well – and a layer of bandages around her waist. Rukia reaches forward for his robes and Ichigo helps her push them away, letting them drop to the floor. He loosens his cuffs as she untucks the shirt he is wearing.

“Really. I like it,” Ichigo admits as he pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall as well. He reaches for her, strong arms pressing her nearly-bare chest against his. “I like the thought of being able to hear you no matter what.” Then he bends to kiss her again and Rukia flushes bright at the thought she picks up from him.

“O-oh, I hadn’t heard of being able to do _that_ , but… I like the idea of it,” she admits against his lips. She likes the idea of just being held by him like this, too, but Ichigo’s mouth is encouraging hers to open, and Rukia shivers as he licks into her mouth while his heat seeps into her. He’s _strong_ , beneath the shirt and heavy robes: his muscles are well-defined, although Ichigo is lean rather than bulky. She lets a tendril of her enjoyment slip to him and savors the way he shivers against her and opens his eyes, pupils dilated.

“Just like that,” Ichigo praises, and his fingers reach to lift her slip. But she stiffens and her hands fall to his, stopping him. “Rukia?” he asks gently.

She ducks her head. “There’s – something you should know,” she whispers, and though she tries to hold the sudden fear back in her own mind, Ichigo’s expression is tender as he looks at her, and she knows it’s reached him as well.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he promises. “I love you, that won’t change.”

His words give her the time and courage to take a deep breath. “When – after the Adachi incident, there were some other consequences,” Rukia explains. When Ichigo just looks at her, puzzled, she turns her back to him again and pulls the silk slip over her head. She feels it when he stiffens behind her while the slip slides down her arms and she lets it fall to the floor in a ripple of fabric.

Though partially covered by the rest of her undergarments and the bandaging around her waist, Rukia knows what he sees: scars and burn marks, some like pock marks and others pale lines along her skin, from her shoulders down to the small of her back, and along the backs of her thighs and calves. “The bomb that Adachi exploded created a lot of shrapnel, and burned my skin,” she explains as calmly as she can.

Ichigo is still silent, and she feels herself start to shake. _He thought he was getting an unblemished woman_ , she thinks. _He’ll think they’re ugly, that I’m ugly, that—_

His arm wraps around her waist while his mouth touches one of the scars on her shoulder blade. “ _Stop_ ,” he orders, voice hard, and his lips find another scar. “You are perfect to me. You saved my family. You saved me. You _love_ me.” The words are murmured against her skin before he turns her to face him. “Don’t _ever_ think that your scars make you less beautiful in my eyes.” When she sags against him, relief running through her, he catches her, hand splayed against her back and keeping her pressed to him. “Let me show you.”

Her cheeks heat up again, but Ichigo silently unfastens the wrap from around her breasts and lets it fall to the floor with the rest of their clothes. He pushes down the set of cotton drawers she wears as well, and when she is bare for him besides the layer of bandages around her waist, he gently lifts her onto his bed. As she watches he pulls his boots and trousers off, then the plain black drawers he wears as well – and Rukia blushes from the roots of her hair down to her chest, because she’s never seen a man like _this_ before.

He is as trim as she expected, hips narrow beneath all the layers of clothing. A faint trail of flame-colored hair trails down his stomach and to the base of his length – which is already hard, already jutting toward her as he steps closer to the bed. His legs, by contrast, have very little hair; but they look strong as he uses his knee to lever himself onto the bed beside her.

As Rukia watches, he lays himself alongside her and then pulls her closer. She goes willingly into his arms, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her until she is breathless and shivering for an entirely different reason. One hand breaks free to stroke along her flank, resting on her hip and squeezing lightly. Just that touch makes her gasp, and he grins against her lips. “I want you,” he murmurs into her mouth. “I want to—” He stops and kisses her again, searing hot against her as his hand squeezes harder. “I want to make you mine.”

“Aren’t I already yours?” Rukia asks, eyes drifting open to look into his. His pupils are blown wide as he looks at her in the late afternoon light. “We signed a courting agreement, after all.” Her words are light and a little teasing, for all that he is already leaving her breathless.

“Hn. The courting agreement is the paper that tells everyone else how much I respect you and that I want to make you my Empress,” Ichigo says solemnly. “Being mine here,” his fingers tap her chest, just over her heart, “Is love, and I want that, too. This – being mine _here_ , in my arms, is different.” His fingertips stroke along her hip and thigh.

“Oh?” Her voice is soft, but she wants him to say _more_. Even just the implication is sending heat through her, creating little jolts of pleasure between her legs. She squirms and Ichigo catches her.

He tucks her closer, so that they are skin to skin and she can feel the hard length of him pressing against her skin. It sends another shock of pleasure through her and Rukia gasps softly. But all he does is whisper in her ear, “I want to claim you. I want _all_ of you, Rukia.” She shivers against him again. “I want to be inside of you, to feel you shake and scream for me.”

“I—” Rukia swallows. “I want to be yours,” she agrees, and lets out another little gasp when his arm tightens around her and his lips slant over hers again.

“Let me take care of you,” he urges when their lips part, and kisses his way down her neck. He nips at the join of her neck and shoulder, and then sucks, leaving her soft skin reddened.

“That’s going to show,” Rukia protests softly, but Ichigo just chuckles softly.

“Healing magic,” he reminds her. “I’ll be the only one who sees how well-loved you are.” There are promises in his words that shoot straight to the core of her, leaving her wet for him even though he has barely touched her.

But Ichigo – Ichigo _knows_. His lips kiss along the rise of her breast and he lavishes attention on her pale skin until his lips close over her nipple. She arches off the bed, moaning with mixed pleasure and shock, and Ichigo glances up, honeyed eyes meeting hers again. There is mischief in them, she thinks – and she’s not wrong, because his mouth finds her other nipple and does the same. He runs his tongue over her skin until her nipples are both hard and aching, before he kisses the space between her breasts and down her slender stomach.

When he reaches the bandages, Ichigo frowns gently. His hand finds the exact place where she was wounded, and he focuses for a moment. Healing magic tingles along her skin and a moment later Ichigo gently pulls away the bandages to reveal nearly unblemished skin. “That’s better,” he says quietly, and kisses the same spot. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What about all those times you said you’d punish me?” Rukia asks breathlessly – because he is kneeling between her thighs, hands stroking over her skin.

“Oh,” Ichigo murmurs. “But who said I’d use _pain_?” he asks, and the tips of his fingers trail ever so lightly over her center. She arches her hips towards him, seeking _more_. “You’re so wet for me already.” There is a hint of wonder in his voice as he lowers his mouth and _licks_.

Rukia practically jerks off the bed at the flicker of pleasure, and he has to grab for her to keep her closer. “What – what will you do instead?” she gasps out.

Ichigo licks her again, holding her hips still this time, and watches as she shakes on the bed. “Tease you until you’re wild for my touch. Hold you on the edge until you’re begging me to let you come,” he suggests lowly. The words send another shiver through her and she can _feel_ the little gush of wetness they cause. “I have some other ideas. But today – I could have lost you,” he murmurs against her skin. “And I want to make every inch of you mine.” Then he turns his attention to pleasing her in earnest, tongue lapping over heated skin, mouth working over her folds and finding her clit as she moans loudly for him and writhes in the grip of his hips, one hand clapped to her mouth to stifle her moans while the other threads through the silk of his hair.

When Ichigo catches her attempts to quiet herself, though, he tuts and reaches up, pulling her hand away. “I love the way you sound. Don’t hide your pleasure from me,” he orders before he goes back to making her shake. One hand leaves her hip to slide fingers along her skin again, and he slips one finger inside her. Rukia’s mouth drops open on another moan and he looks up. “Does that feel good?” he asks from between her thighs.

“Yes,” she gets out, hips arching toward him. She picks up from him just how much he loves the taste of her, how he has to gentle himself because he wants her _so much_ but doesn’t want to go too fast, doesn’t want to cause her pain or ever make her _fear_ his touch. She’s drawn away from his thoughts by the way he _thrusts_ , ever so slowly, finger sliding in and out of her core. “O-oh, keep doing that,” she whispers.

She feels the way his lips curve, but Ichigo does as she asks, one hand continuing to hold her hips steady while the other works his finger in and out of her. She hears: _I want to make you feel so good_ , and it sends a shiver of heat through her. Then his finger leaves her and he presses two into her, stretching her and making Rukia drop her head back. “Ichigo,” she moans, “Please – don’t stop, don’t _stop_ …”

Ichigo grins against her again but he keeps his mouth on her, keeps making _exactly_ the shape with his tongue that she likes best as his fingers curl upwards and hit a spot inside of her that sends a rush of white heat over her. _Come for me,_ he whispers into her mind. Rukia clutches the sheets with one hand and moans his name again. She is so close – so close, as her inner walls throb around his fingers and tension builds in her. _Come for me_ , he tells her again.

The tension breaks. Rukia gasps for air as pleasure throbs through her body, walls clenching _tight_ around his fingers over and over, clit throbbing as she jerks her hips toward his mouth and fingers. She moans his name again, one hand tugging his hair as the wave crashes over her.

When some of the haze of pleasure lifts, Ichigo is alongside her again, an arm around her holding her close while his other hand strokes through her hair. “Did you like that?” he asks softly, and the curve of his lips is soft.

“Did I – _yes_.” She already wants _more_ , but the feel of him holding her is so good that Rukia relaxes into him. Still, she can feel how hard he is against her, can feel the way he is shifting against her slowly, length rubbing against her skin. And so her hand reaches down, wrapping around his length.

It’s almost like she’s punched him: all the air seems to rush from him in a sudden exhale and his eyes fasten on hers, as he clutches at her. “ _Rukia_.” Her name gasps out of his lips and Ichigo’s hips jerk toward her, pushing him into her hand, as his mouth drops open on another moan of her name. Ichigo seizes her mouth in a kiss and she blushes to taste herself on him, but his kisses make her heady and a little dizzy with need. She strokes her hand along the hard length of him and he gasps her name again against her lips.

This close together, his pleasure washes over her, and Rukia moans for him even though he is just holding her. It makes his eyes open, dark and focused on her. “Oh,” he whispers. One hand finds its way between her legs again and he strokes her overheated skin. Her world turns hazy again with pleasure, both hers and his, as his fingers dip between her lips and strokes her swollen clit. “You look so beautiful like this. Do you need me, Rukia?” Ichigo asks softly.

“Yes – I-I need you so much,” she tells him, though it turns her cheeks pink. There is an emptiness inside her, one that only _he_ can fill for her. She wants what only _he_ can give her, and she pushes those feelings toward him even as her hand tightens on his length, making him gasp again and push himself further into her hand. Even thinking the words makes her feel shy, but she leans into him, whispering into his ear, “I want you to claim me, the way you promised.”

When his mouth covers hers, she leans into him, shivering in his arms as his hands stroke her skin, as they find her hips and cup her. “Hold onto me,” Ichigo murmurs against her lips when she tenses up. “You’re so wet for me, I love that you need me the way I need you.” As he speaks her arms come around his back, holding tight as he brings his hand down her thigh, urging her leg around his hip as he rolls them so that her back is pressed against silk fabric again.

“Please,” she whispers, and moans when he kisses her again. The head of him, thick and hard, rubs against her and Rukia shivers beneath him. Ichigo urges her hips higher and Rukia’s eyes meet his as he presses inside of her. There’s a sharp pain that she flinches away from, body tensed, and Ichigo stops, holding himself above her.

“Breathe,” he urges. “Let me—”

She’s not sure what he does or how, whether it’s his healing magic or the magic between them, but something gentle washes over her, softening and then easing away the sharpness entirely. Rukia takes a breath and then another, and when her grip on him eases Ichigo thrusts again, sinking so slowly into her. The way he stretches her, the way he _fills_ her, makes her mouth drop open on a low gasp that he echoes, head hanging over her as he fills her completely, hips pressed to hers and one hand still holding her leg to his hip.

Their eyes meet, and Ichigo leans in to kiss her, free hand cupping the back of her head to keep her close to him. His hair drapes down around them, flame-bright, and this close it is long enough that it hides the rest of the world from view. It’s just them, joined so tightly together that she doesn’t know where she begins and he ends. “You’re mine,” he murmurs into her mouth, a claiming and a promise in one phrase.

The words send heat and pleasure through her, but she whispers, suddenly feeling just a little shy, “You’re mine too.”

His lips curve against hers in a grin. “Always.” There is a promise in that word, too, a warm one that settles in between them, but then Ichigo’s hips move against hers and the heat between them wins out. He thrusts slowly, filling her over and over, and though at first all Rukia can do is hold onto him, eventually she picks up the rhythm of his hips and joins him. Ichigo _growls_ a little in her ear, a pleased sound as he picks up speed and changes the angle so that he is pushing _up_ , pressing against a spot inside of her that sends even sharper shocks of pleasure through her. Through it all pleasure races back and forth between them; she can feel how _he_ feels, wrapped in the heat of her and she knows that he can feel just how _full_ she is with every thrust.

She loses track of time, loses all sense of anything but their lovemaking until Ichigo rolls with her and grins, ferally, when she is atop him. “Ichigo?” Rukia asks, cheeks flushing at their new position.

“I want to watch you like this,” he tells her. Then he sits up, carefully, taking her with him, and whispers hotly into her ear, “Ride me, Rukia. Show me what you like.” The words send another shiver and a little gush of wetness between them, and Ichigo lowers his mouth to her neck, lips and teeth finding her pulse point. “Show me,” Ichigo urges again.

With his body pressed against her and the truth of his love for her filling their mind-to-mind connection, Rukia can push away her shyness and ride him as he asks, controlling the way her hips rise and fall upon his length. She is so wet that she can hear the slide of their joining, and it makes her blush again, but Ichigo’s lips are on her neck and drifting lower, until he finds her nipple and closes his mouth over it, sucking while one hand reaches up to tease at the other, sending sparks of need shooting through her again. His other hand rests on her hip, guiding and keeping her close.

There is tension rising in her again, and she can feel it in him, too: in the way he moans against her breasts, in the way his hand grips and urges her on faster. He seems to swell inside of her, and Rukia searches for something just out of reach, hips moving faster as she seeks it.

His mouth leaves her breast and Ichigo looks up at her. “You want to come for me again, don’t you?” he murmurs. “I’m going to join you this time, I’m going to fill you and make you _mine_.” The last word ends on a gasp as she sinks down on him, moaning his name in his ear. Ichigo’s hand slides down her body and settles between them so that his fingers can touch her, finding the swollen bud of her clit and stroking gently, then more firmly as she throws her head back and moans. “That’s it,” he urges. “Come for me.”

With him touching her, with his cock thick and hard and filling her, stretching her, it takes only a moment more for Rukia to come, for a wave of pleasure to crash over her and send her calling his name in a scream as she falls against his chest, body shaking and inner walls clutching him over and over as she shudders through it in his arms. She shares it with him and Ichigo groans her name. He moves beneath her, fingers still playing with her clit so that another wave rocks through her while he whispers to her, telling her that she’s _all his_ , that she’s so _good_ , that he’s going to _fill_ her. His arm holds her tight to him and his hips thrust up into her until with one last thrust he groans her name, shaking beneath her and emptying himself into her. His pleasure washes over her and a third wave shudders through her.

Ichigo seizes her in another kiss, lips moving against hers and tongue licking into her mouth as they shake together, breathing ragged and skin hot and damp with sweat. It’s her hair, dark and thick, that hides them from the world this time as she leans over him. Gently he pulls out of her, sending a rush of fluid across their thighs, and Rukia’s face turns scarlet at the feel of it. Ichigo just kisses her again and touches her cheek. “I love you,” he says, and again there is a promise in his words. “My moon and stars. My Empress.”

Rukia sighs into his mouth, the sound one of satisfaction. She likes being called his moon and stars. After all, he is like the sun, golden and so warm around her. “I love you too,” she promises him. But: “I’m not your empress yet, though.”

Ichigo smirks and shifts his weight, rolling with her so that he can lay on his back and hold her close to him. “I’ll court you for as long as you want me to, my lady, but I would marry you and put the crown of the Empress on your head tomorrow, if you let me.”

She raises her head from its place on his chest and kisses him again. “Maybe just a little longer?” Rukia asks softly. “I…like the idea of being courted by you.”

He raises his lips to her forehead and presses a gentle kiss between her brows. “As my lady wishes,” Ichigo agrees. Then he glances first toward the sliding door tucked against one wall of the room and then down at their bodies. Ignoring her murmur of protest, he untangles himself from her and steps down from the bed. “I’m going to run us both a bath,” he explains, and kisses her again before he steps away from her. He leaves the sliding door open, and Rukia listens to the rush of water as she dozes a little.

She opens her eyes when Ichigo’s arms slide beneath her back and knees, and she loops her arms around his neck as he carries her into the bathing room. She murmurs in surprise when they enter the tile-lined space. It’s the most impressive bathing room she’s ever seen: the tub is large enough for four people and gleams white in the light from several sconces along the walls. There is a large sink as well, taking up an entire wall, and a walled-off area for the necessary.

It’s the tub that Rukia is most interested in, although she makes a face at her hair. But Ichigo is prepared for that too, it seems; after setting her down he plays maid, piling her hair atop her head and pinning it so that it won’t get wet. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and Ichigo drops a kiss on her shoulder in response.

“Here, let me help you in,” he offers, and holds Rukia’s hand to steady her as she steps over the high rim of the tub.

She sinks down with pleasure and makes room for him when he follows her into the steaming, scented water. The hot water works wonders on her muscles, and Ichigo helps as well, drawing fingers along developing marks and using a trickle of his magic each time to ease an ache, to heal a spot where his lips sucked or fingers gripped a little _too_ enthusiastically.

When she hears movement and excited chattering from the next room, though, Rukia ducks down in the water until it covers her chin and whispers frantically, “Ichigo, _there are people in your bedroom_.”

He glances toward the half-open door and clears his throat, cheeks coloring. But he focuses his gaze on the door and it slides the rest of the way shut, concealing them. “Apparently no one told the servants that my order about not bothering us unless the palace was on fire applied to them, too.” He finds her hand beneath the water and squeezes gently before twining his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure there aren’t any rumors.”

“Well,” she mumbles, “As long as the rumors are about you and _me_ , and not someone else.” Ichigo gamely suppresses his grin and kisses her, but even after washing up, they stay under the water until the bedroom has been silent for a while.

Eventually, Ichigo checks for any lingering servants and only opens the door fully when he’s sure that they’re gone. Their discarded clothes have been cleared away and the bed has been changed and turned down; a nightshirt is spread across the sheets, along with one of Rukia’s nightdresses. A little table, settled across from the chaise, holds a selection of small finger foods and a pot of tea; a little posy of forget-me-nots sits in a tiny ceramic vase next to the plates. “Well they figured out that it’s me in here with you,” Rukia comments, and hides her blushes as she pulls her nightdress on.

Ichigo grins and pulls on his own nightshirt. They drink their tea and nibble at the finger foods, cuddled up together on the soft chaise, until they are both yawning. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs when Rukia is practically dozing on his shoulder, and they climb into the enormous bed together. He tucks her close and pulls the coverlet over them both before stroking her hair until they both fall asleep, bodies still twined together.

* * *

Three days later, Rukia is once more in the beautiful purple gown, silver filigree wrapped around her waist and her hair flowing free save for a few strands that have been artfully styled with pins studded with amethysts – loaned from the royal family’s collection. The rest of that loan hangs from her neck, a silver necklace fitted with a teardrop-shaped amethyst that rests in the vee of her neckline, and from her ears, which hold swinging earrings that sparkle with matching stones.

“These aren’t a courting gift,” Ichigo emphasizes as he fastens the necklace, lips pressing against the back of her neck. They aren’t in his rooms, where Rukia has been staying for the past three nights; they’ve made only the barest pretense that she is using the Empress’ suite, although they haven’t fooled any of the servants. They are using the Empress’ suite now, as she stands in the living room and lets Ichigo put her jewelry on. “They’re a loan from the palace collection.”

“I understand,” she says, solemnly. They must be worth a fortune, after all, and Rukia has never exactly been jewelry-hungry. After all, she was an orphan and then a guard before she became Lady Kuchiki.

But Ichigo isn’t done; he picks up a fourth small box and opens it, holding it out to her. Inside is a platinum band, just the right size for her left ring finger. Atop the band perches a cushion cut white diamond: elegant, sparkling, and gleaming in the mage lights around them. “ _This_ is,” he explains. “It’s different than Sode no Shirayuki, but I thought – well.” His cheeks color. “I hope I picked well.”

Rukia has to stand up on her tiptoes to kiss him despite the tall shoes she wears, and her hand touches his cheek softly. “It’s beautiful,” she assures him – and it is. The stone is flawless, and as she looks closer, it seems to sparkle with an inner blue fire.

“I – added a little of your blue fire to it,” Ichigo admits, “when I caught you practicing yesterday.” He carefully takes the ring from the box and slips it on her finger, where it fits just right.

She kisses him again, but draws away as the doors to her rooms swing open. Lieutenant Arisawa is there, a little smirk playing on her lips, but she bows deeply nonetheless. “Your Imperial Highness. Lady Kuchiki. The women’s guard is here to escort Lady Kuchiki to the announcement ceremony,” she announces. There are six women behind her, all in formal uniform. Each wears a black armband on her right bicep, a nod to the continued mourning throughout the Empire.

Ichigo himself is not wearing full mourning this evening: though his trousers and boots are still black, his shirt and robe are made from shimmering silver-gray silk. His wide sleeves are embroidered with a repeating abstract pattern along the hem in a darker thread. Rukia catches a glimpse of them in the mirror as they walk toward the door; they look _right_ together, and she thinks that Lord Ishida – Uryuu, as she has been instructed to call him – was right about Ichigo’s robe. She, mindful of the plum hue of her gown and the fact that she can’t wear an armband, has a slender bangle of pure black onyx on her left wrist.

When they reach the doors, Ichigo picks up Sode no Shirayuki from a low table and hands the sword to her, then kisses her temple lightly. “I’ll join you in a few minutes,” he promises.

Rukia leans into him, but the announcement must go according to plan, and so she allows Tatsuki and the other guards to escort her from the Emperor and Empress’ wing of the palace. The walk is long, especially in the tall shoes that she wears, but finally they reach the doors of the ballroom. Orihime is already there, stunning in a silk tulle gown. The off-shoulder bodice is daring and a blue so dark that it is nearly black, but quickly fades to a brilliant aquamarine and then to paler shades at the hem.

The other woman greets her with such a tight hug that Rukia starts to feel a little dizzy – or maybe it’s just the nerves. “Rukia! Oh, you look _exactly_ like I pictured. And your jewelry is beautiful! Did his Imperial Highness give it to you? And that _ring_!” Orihime chatters happily. Rukia can hear the nervousness in her voice, though, and she gently squeezes her friend’s hand.

“Take a deep breath, Orihime,” she suggests. “The announcement is smaller than normal, remember? There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Rukia, at least, has been given a run-through of the announcement, and so she isn’t nearly as surprised as Orihime when the doors before them suddenly fling open. She can see immediately that the room is fuller than she expected _._ The requirement for mourning dress has been relaxed for the event, and from the doorway she can see sedate greens and blues, sharp grays, and a few shades of dark purple. There are mourning armbands on every guard and every man that she can see.

“The Lady Rukia Kuchiki, and the Lady Orihime Inoue,” a voice booms, and Rukia and Orihime step inside the throne room. The path to the front of the room is clear, and everyone stares at them as they enter. Three days of practice shielding her mind keeps most of the noise of the minds round her at bay. Rukia straightens to her full height and proudly displays Sode no Shirayuki as she steps forward, the blade peace-knotted to its sheath but gleaming white in the light from the chandeliers. Orihime walks beside her, and behind her is one of the guards, carrying a large box. Rukia supposes it must be Ishida’s first courting gift to her; she feels a little guilty for not knowing what it is, but then – things have been more than a little chaotic.

When they reach the front of the room, Ichigo is there, sitting on a throne, and both women bow to him before stepping to the side. A little dais has been set up, giving both Ichigo and Uryuu, who sits a few feet away from his cousin, a height advantage. There are papers on display, pinned to velvet-covered boards, and as she passes them Rukia can see that they are copies of the courtship documents.

Junior Advisor Hanatarou silently directs them to cushioned seats separate from the rest of the audience. The announcement is – longer than she expected, even given the overview from Advisor Kyouraku. After introductory announcements welcoming everyone to the palace, there is a prayer for Emperor Isshin and Empress Masaki, led by Kyouraki.

Then Orihime is called up to the dais first, and she sweeps up the stairs as Uryuu stands and crosses the dais to take her hand. There is a lengthy explanation from Advisor Hitsugaya of the courtship agreement for Uryuu and Orihime. Theirs seems mostly straightforward, although there are mentions of Uryuu’s status as the emperor’s respected cousin and his father’s status as a trusted advisor to the emperor that Rukia is sure mean more than Hitsugaya is saying.

“I pledge to abide by the courtship agreement that I have signed, and to care for Lady Inoue,” Uryuu announces steadily. He is dignified in dark gray robes, a nice contrast to Orihime’s black and aquamarine gown. “Should we proceed beyond courtship and agree to marry, the Clans of Inoue and Ishida will join, and I will care for the Inoue line as if it were my own. The courtship gift I offered has been accepted.”

Though Rukia can still see the velvet boards from her vantage point, she can’t read the agreement; but Orihime’s aunt and uncle are in the front row near her clan, and they seem pleased enough. She hopes they are, at least; she doesn’t think that Uryuu will let her friend go.

“I pledge to abide by the courtship agreement that I have signed, and to care for Lord Uryuu Ishida,” Orihime promises in her soft, high voice. But there is a smile on her face that almost sets her aglow, and Rukia can see the way the rest of the audience reacts to her. “My skills in the material arts will be used to better the Ishida Clan and the Empire. I am entering this agreement of my own will, and with the endorsement of my clan.”

Polite applause fills the room, and Rukia beams at her friend as Uryuu kisses her hand and then guides Orihime to a seat next to him on the dais. Then it is her turn. Tatsuki is beside her, and Rukia formally hands over Sode no Shirayuki before, at Hanatarou’s gesture, she climbs the short set of steps.

Ichigo holds his hand out for her, and she takes it, unable to stop the smile that spreads across her face. An answering one curves on his lips, and he raises her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss against it. Then he nods to Hitsugaya, and Rukia settles next to him as the advisor begins his speech.

The explanation for her agreement with Ichigo is even longer. When she focuses on the audience, she can see that the Kuchiki elders are in the front row of seats, led by her brother, whose look when he catches her noticing is shockingly warm by his standards. The elders just look shocked altogether as their clan is given _most favored status_ and as Rukia is called, before close to a hundred people, Byakuya’s _most beloved sister_. Rukia keeps her expression solemn; she might want to rub it in _just a little_ , but Hitsugaya is doing that for her quite well.

She spots Karin and Yuzu, both girls beaming, and her expression cracks then; she can’t help giving them both a smile. She missed Karin and Yuzu terribly, and that they are willing to accept her as their sister in law, that they missed her too, warms her straight through. Rangiku is a few rows back, and though she still looks careworn, she smiles when Rukia catches her eye. More surprisingly, Gin is next to her – and he nods solemnly to Rukia when he realizes he has caught her notice as well.

Then the announcement is over, and Ichigo speaks up. “I pledge to abide by the courtship agreement that I have signed, and to love and care for Lady Rukia Kuchiki. When we marry, Lady Kuchiki will become Empress Rukia Kurosaki of the Seireitei Empire.” A faint murmur ripples through the crowd at his words, and Rukia’s cheeks flush. “The first and second courtship gifts I offered has been accepted, and one has already drawn blood in defense of the Empire.” _That_ really sets the room talking, and it takes Hitsugaya calling for quiet to calm them.

Rukia looks up at Ichigo before she speaks, but her voice is firm when she does. “I pledge to abide by the courtship agreement that I have signed, and to love and care for Emperor Ichigo Kurosaki,” she begins. “My skills in battle magic and mind magic will be used for the good of the Empire and the safety of Emperor Kurosaki and his – our – family.” Rukia pauses, and when Ichigo squeezes her hand, she adds, “And so will my gift of Sight, passed down to me from the Mitehasu Clan.”

The room falls apart completely at that, a babble of nervous voices warring with overjoyed ones. It’s a gamble to let everyone know that Rukia is skilled in three branches of magic and that one of them is supposedly a myth. And it’s particularly a gamble to acknowledge the wiped-out clan from which she came; after all, the head of the clan that destroyed hers is sitting in the fourth row, eyes so wide she thinks they might fall out.

“I am not finished,” Rukia announces, and her voice rings through the room. She gets quiet instantly, and she knows precisely why. “I enter into this agreement of my own will, and with the blessing of the Kuchiki Clan.” The word blessing is a little strong; but by the way they are staring at her, these men and women who used to judge her and find her wanting, she thinks they will not object.

Ichigo lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it again. “My moon and stars,” he says softly, and leads her to the throne beside his. For it _is_ a throne, she sees: a little narrower, a little less opulent, but a throne just the same. He seats her, and then himself, as the Kuchiki elders lead a round of firm, emphatic applause.

The room is changing around them, as Tatsuki places Sode no Shirayuki on display while a servant does the same for the box that Uryuu has given to Orihime. There will be a dinner once the nobles have had their fill of looking at the gifts. But Rukia just focuses on Ichigo, whose hand is still wrapped around hers. “If I am your moon and stars, then you are my sun,” Rukia says quietly, and lets his answering smile warm her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the announcement in my other fics, this last week was IchiRuki Week in the Seireitei Discord server, and several members of the fandom got together and created new fics and art in celebration. The AO3 collection can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeireiteiDiscordIRweek), and on tumblr the hashtag is #irweek2020.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year after his father's death, Ichigo and his consort are officially crowned.

_One year and five days after the death of Emperor Isshin Kurosaki_

The day of the coronation dawns warm and bright, sunlight spilling onto the room around her. The sun is next to her, as well, in the form of her still-sleeping husband. They’re in his bedroom, and Rukia knows that she needs to make the short trip back to hers before Orihime, Rangiku, and the servants arrive to dress her. When Ichigo drapes an arm around her waist and kisses her shoulder, however, Rukia settles back into his warmth for just a moment. Eventually, she says, “Orihime and Rangiku will be knocking on my door any minute.”

“Hmn. They don’t think you ever spend the night in your rooms?” Ichigo asks in a mumble against her skin. His bare chest presses against her back and he tucks her closer. His contentment washes over her, soft and hazy as he wakes.

Rukia laughs softly and turns in his arms to look at him. His bright hair is mussed and tangled, and she’s sure hers is too. “Well, there was that night I was upset with you,” she points out.

“And I spent an hour by myself before I joined you,” Ichigo agrees. “I learned my lesson.”

She laughs softly. “My _point_ is, I’d rather not meet them still looking quite this _well-loved_ , as you like to put it,” she murmurs, and kisses his jaw, near his pulse point.

Ichigo’s eyes open, honeyed amber in the sunlight, and meet hers as his hand splays across her bare back. “If you insist,” he agrees, and reaches up to stroke her cheek with his other hand. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” he murmurs to her, and presses a chaste kiss against her lips.

Rukia returns his kiss before she reluctantly climbs out of the bed when he lets her out of his embrace. Her nightdress is crumpled on the chaise at the end of his bed, and she slips that on before blowing him one more kiss and pushing the door between his bedroom and the rest of his suite open. She walks to the doors that connect their rooms and slips into hers.

* * *

Ichigo remembers the day of his parents’ coronation. This morning, as a servant helps him to dress in the complicated coronation robes that have been made with skill and the help of magic, he remembers his father’s jokes about the heavy golden crown, and his mother’s smile as her husband placed a ruby-encrusted tiara upon her head. He remembers how happy they looked as they stood before their people and pledged hand, head, and heart to protect the Seireitei Empire and do all they could to strengthen it. Sometimes Ichigo wonders what would have happened if his mother hadn’t died – if Isshin had ruled with his soulmate at his side.

He shakes himself of the thought and looks in the mirror as his servant, a tall, older man with salt and pepper hair named Iwasaki, steps back. The coronation robes look similar to his father’s: heavy white silk flows down his body to his ankles, open in front to reveal the snowy white silk tunic and trousers beneath it. The wide sleeves are lined with cloth of gold with suns embroidered along the fabric in a subtle pattern. Even his shoes are white fabric. Ichigo’s half-terrified that he’ll smudge something on them before the coronation even starts.

“Sir, your hair,” Iwasaki says calmly, and Ichigo obediently sits on the nearby chair. He waits patiently as the older man brushes out his long, flame-bright hair and secrets a pair of pins high on the back of his head. It’s a trick Iwasaki has insisted on: they’ll keep Ichigo’s crown on his head, apparently.

The doors between Rukia’s suite and his open, and Ichigo stands as his wife and empress steps inside. “You look beautiful,” he breathes, and watches as a faint blush dusts her cheeks. Like him, she is dressed in white robes, but hers are more elaborate in their design; given Orihime’s hand in their creation, Ichigo isn’t surprised. White embroidery decorates the heavy silk along the hem and sleeves, and as Ichigo steps closer to her he can see that there is a crescent moon motif worked in among stylized flowers from across the empire. Her sleeves are lined with cloth of silver, shimmering and shining beneath the bright, magic-lit chandeliers overhead.

The gown beneath her robes is just as elaborate: white silk gauze covers her neckline in a shallow vee, so transparent that it is nearly invisible, and fits snugly around her to the waist before billowing into a wide, layered skirt. Angular embroidery in silver thread emphasizes her narrow waist, while white silk beneath the gauze hides her skin from view. The hilt of Sode no Shirayuki is barely visible beneath her robes, and Rukia wears no jewelry save for the courting ring and wedding ring he gave her months ago.

“Do you think so?” Rukia asks as he looks his fill of her. “I’m – a little nervous. The ceremony your advisors planned sounds very elaborate.”

Ichigo glances at Iwasaki, but he bows quickly and departs without a word – though Ichigo catches the way his lips quirk up. “I’m a little nervous too,” Ichigo admits, and when he holds his hand out, she takes it, fingers twining with his. “Hitsugaya said that thousands of people slept on the streets last night so that they would have a good view of the carriage ride.”

Rukia’s hand squeezes his tightly. “That’s a little unnerving. But at least we’ve rehearsed – three times, at your urging,” she teases gently.

The smile on her face eases some of Ichigo’s nervousness and he brushes his lips against hers ever so lightly, careful not to smudge the makeup she wears. “I made it worth your while,” he murmurs, and grins when her cheeks darken. He doesn’t need to use the connection between them to know what she’s thinking, but Ichigo does anyway, and hums under his breath as he catches a thought and a heated image. “I liked that too.”

“You can’t say things like that right as we’re about to go wave at a hundred thousand people!” Rukia’s cheeks are flaming red beneath the powdered makeup on her face as she protests, and she fans herself with her free hand. “We’re not going to be alone again until midnight.”

Ichigo just presses a chaste kiss to her lips again. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, and grins at the flicker of suppressed need he feels from her. Six months into their marriage, they’re both near-insatiable for one another and Ichigo counts himself lucky that they’ve only scandalized two guards. He’d say more, but the carriage is already waiting for them and so instead when the doors to his suite open he walks beside her down to the entrance of the palace and helps her into the open carriage before accepting help from a footman to lever himself up beside her while keeping his robes under control. Between the two of them, the piles of extra fabric just barely fit – but their hands clasp together tightly amidst the white silk as the carriage rolls forward, pulled by four white horses, through the palace gates.

Ahead of and around them ride guards on stallions in golden barding, and behind is a carriage holding Yuzu and Karin, as well as Lady Shihouin. More carriages follow, carrying his advisors, as well as Lady Unohana and General Zaraki. The elite women’s guard ride alongside and behind the carriages, resplendent in dress uniform with silver detailing along their knee-length split skirts.

The noise of the crowds just beyond the gates was already loud; when they pass through it becomes a deafening roar of cheering and screaming. Occasionally Ichigo hears a shout of “long live the Emperor!” or “long live the Empress!”, but mostly the shouts and cheers blend together. The crowds are ten rows deep as they travel through the noble quarter, although there are few nobles present; they are already at the temple square, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

The carriage ride takes nearly an hour given the slow speed of the procession, but finally they arrive at the temple and alight from the carriage. Though the roar of the crowd is nearly unbearable for a moment, it subsides somewhat when six miko and the priest who officiated their wedding ceremony depart from the temple and bow low to Ichigo and Rukia. Bearing bells that chime softly as they walk forward, the miko escort them along a path lined with red chrysanthemums toward a raised platform that has been set up to allow as many as possible to see the coronation. This was Ukitake’s idea, Ichigo remembers – a way to share with the people of the empire the crowning of their Emperor and his joining to the Empress.

For it isn’t just the coronation that the people will see; Ichigo and Rukia will repeat an abbreviated version of their wedding ceremony as well. It’s a public relations _coup_ , according to his advisors – a coronation and the wedding of a young, handsome emperor and his beautiful consort all in one – and Ichigo doesn’t mind saying his vows to Rukia a second time. He focuses on helping Rukia up the set of steps onto the platform; her garb is heavier than his and she is smaller; apparently that, too, is a mark in his favor, as he hears more than a few positive murmurs as he stays at her side, arm held at an angle for her to hold onto and balance herself.

Once on the platform they stand before the priest who officiated at their private wedding six months ago. Ichigo remembers saying quietly to Rukia late one afternoon in the gardens, three months into their formal courtship, “Let’s get married,” and waiting nervously for her answer. Now, as they stand together in front of every noble in the capital, in front of tens of thousands of people who have flooded the streets for blocks and blocks, Ichigo smiles down at his empress consort, and doesn’t feel nervous at all.

The elderly priest, wearing bright red robes, taps a pendant on his neck and suddenly his voice rings throughout the open square. “Come before me today to join in marriage are his Imperial Highness, Ichigo Kurosaki, fifteenth Emperor of the Seireitei, and his chosen consort, the Lady Rukia of the Kuchiki Clan by adoption and the Mitehasu Clan by birth,” he announces as the crowds quiet down.

The wedding ceremony is shortened from that private ceremony, but it is as solemn as the first. By the priest they are instructed to drink blessed sake, both bitter and sweet, from shallow cups together to symbolize their commitment to one another through both the sweet and bitter of life. They are admonished in front of their people to be loyal to one another and honor each other and the gods through their marriage. Though they exchanged rings months ago, once more they place their wedding rings on one another’s fingers: rings that Ichigo has made with his own hands and magic from white gold and soul-steel.

And once more, the priest wraps white silk ribbon around their joined hands, his right and her left. Ichigo basks in the wave of love that he feels from Rukia and he returns it, leaving them both beaming at one another despite the solemnity of the ceremony. When the wave of dizziness hits them both a moment later, the priest before them nods in satisfaction. “A true soul match,” he announces, voice ringing through the streets thanks to the pendant he wears, and there is reverence in his expression as the ribbon binding them changes, darkening to bright red. “You are truly blessed by the heavens.”

The cheer that goes up from the crowds when Ichigo presses his lips chastely to Rukia’s is so loud that it shakes the platform beneath their feet, and Ichigo grins as he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist to steady them both. He doesn’t intend for the priest’s amplification pendant to pick up his words when he whispers, “I love you, my moon and stars,” but it only makes the crowd cheer louder, and so does Rukia’s murmur of, “I love you too, my sun.”

When the priest unties the ribbon from their hands, he holds it up to the crowds, showing the bright red length of silk, another cheer goes up. Marriage solemnized once more in front of their people, Rukia moves off to the side of the platform for Ichigo’s coronation. Ichigo takes his place at the center of the platform as his advisors and sisters mount the platform, each dressed in formal blue robes and bearing a different artifact.

These artifacts are said to be as old as the empire itself, and as the priest speaks Ichigo accepts each one with a solemn nod. First is Crown Princess Karin, who offers Ichigo an ancient sword of pure soul-steel and a white silk grip. “The sword of the first Emperor of the Seireitei, may he be resting in the heavens,” the priest announces in ringing tones.

As Karin steps away, Yuzu is next, and she presents Ichigo with a necklace of golden beads, placed over his head as she smiles up at him brightly. “The necklace of the gods, who have blessed each Emperor since our founding.” Hitsugaya follows as the youngest advisor, with an ancient sheath of lacquered green wood, then Yamada, with a shield that he places upon a low table next to Ichigo. Soon, the table is filled with artifacts from across the empire’s history, and Ichigo wears the golden necklace and the sword from Karin.

“Sir, are you willing to take your oath before your peoples assembled here today and for all of the Seireitei Empire?” the priest asks.

“I am,” Ichigo responds, and though nervousness creates a momentary shaking in his muscles, all he needs to do to calm it is catch Rukia’s eyes: they are amethyst in the sunlight and firm on his.

“Very well then. Do you promise to govern the peoples of the Seireitei and all its territories according to the laws of this empire?”

“I will.”

“Will you use your power and authority to ensure that the peoples of the empire are treated with justice and mercy in equal measure, and lead us to ever greater achievement?”

“I will,” Ichigo answers, voice ringing through the square.

The priest nods solemnly. “And will you maintain the laws of the gods and the heavens, so that they may shine upon the empire and make of us a blessed people?”

“I will.”

The priest signals, and Ukitake, as the eldest advisor, approaches with the golden crown that Ichigo’s father wore, and that he will wear in a moment. The priest performs a blessing over it, and as the crowds watch, Ichigo lowers his head so that the priest may place the golden crown, its surface hammered with an intricate design and decorated with gems of many colors, upon his head. He thinks: _my father was right, this crown is heavy_. But after the priest has used the concealed pins in his hair to secure the crown, Ichigo straightens up and the crowd cheers.

Rukia’s coronation is far simpler, for there are no artifacts to present. But Karin, as Crown Princess, approaches with a tiara of platinum, diamonds, and star sapphires. From deep within the vault beneath the palace, it is the tiara that his grandmother wore; Masaki’s rubies, they have both decided, are better saved for her daughters.

“My Lady,” the priest begins, as Rukia stands resplendent in white robes. “Are you willing to take your oath as Empress Consort before all of the Seireitei Empire?”

Solemnly, she declares, “I am.”

The priest bobs his head. “Do you swear your loyalty to the Empire and her peoples?”

“I do swear,” Rukia says, alto voice clear as it rings through the square.

“Will you support his Imperial Highness in maintaining the laws of the gods and the heavens, so that they may shine upon the empire and make of us a blessed people?”

“I will.”

“And will you keep your loyalty to the Emperor as first in your heart, before that of all kith or kin?”

“I will do so,” Rukia agrees.

Ichigo steps into place as Rukia makes her final promise, and after the priest blesses the tiara, Ichigo takes it from Karin and places it upon his wife’s head, securing it with the pins that have been added to her hair for just that purpose. Ichigo smiles solemnly as he crowns his empress, his _love,_ and the priest says a second benediction upon them. The bright platinum and diamonds sparkle atop her dark hair as the crowd cheers.

A moment later the priest declares, “With the blessings of the gods and their oaths made before all of you here today, I present his Imperial Highness, the Emperor Ichigo, and his consort, her Imperial Highness the Empress Rukia.”

Ichigo’s hand reaches for and finds Rukia’s, and they stand atop the platform as the crowds surrounding them roar their approval. Flowers cover the square as they step back down from the platform and walk toward the carriage, waving to the crowds – nobles and commoners alike – who line the streets.

* * *

After they return to the palace, Rukia and Ichigo walk slowly through the hallway that leads to the palace temple. They are alone except for the priest and a contingent of guards, several of whom precede them beyond the gateway and into the temple before signaling their approval to the priest.

When they arrive at the gateway, Rukia’s fingertips tingle and she stops abruptly as the memory of the first vision she had in Ichigo’s presence resurfaces: the temple gateway, solemn and welcoming, as she stood before it.

“Rukia?” Ichigo’s voice is soft, in deference to the holy place ahead of them. His hand brushes hers lightly as he comes to a stop beside her.

“This is the vision I had, when you asked me to walk in the labyrinth with you,” she says softly, and looks up at him, eyes bright. “This moment.”

Ichigo’s lips touch her forehead and he smiles down at her. “I’m glad that this one came true,” he says quietly, and then they walk together through the gate. Calm washes over them both, and Rukia can feel some of the tension leave her shoulders. She feels it in Ichigo as well: a reaction to the holiness of the space and the spiritual presence within. After the noise of the crowds, the quiet is a balm for them both.

They cleanse their hands and mouths at the entrance to the temple proper, passing the ladle between them before they move forward. In the quiet of the temple, the priest does not speak, but steps out of the way as he gestures toward the shrine at the side of the small space. Ichigo takes Rukia by the hand to lead her to the shrine. They bow twice and without prompting Rukia places her hand beside his in the smaller hands of the shrine.

Together, they _push_ with their magic. She doesn’t expect to nearly blind herself with how brightly the shrine glows at the touch of their magic, but the sense of love, of happiness, and of _peace_ that flows over her brings tears to her eyes. When the light has dimmed again, the priest bows deeply to them and they leave the temple as silently as they arrived, walking down the hallway toward the ballroom, where there will be another celebration of their coronation.

Rukia’s fingertips tingle suddenly and she Sees another trip to the temple, another blessing surrounded by their family and friends. And she smiles as she silently shares it with Ichigo.

 _When?_ he asks, and his fingers twine with hers.

 _Late next year, I think. After Toshiro asks for your permission to court Karin,_ Rukia guesses.

He scowls, but then stops and leans down to kiss her temple lightly as they reach the entrance to the ballroom. _I love you_ , he thinks to her as the doors swing open and the heads of dozens of clans bow or curtsey before them.

 _I love you too._ Rukia takes a breath, and they step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading The Emperor Makes a Match. When I started this story over the summer, I expected it to be a few thousand words long, with a magic system that I scribbled on a piece of scrap paper and a vague idea that Ichigo would be a too-young ruler with Isshin playing a prank on him from beyond the grave. And then it became a little more, and a little more - and here we are, 65,000 words later, with a coronation. Your reviews, your kudos, and the fact that you've read along this far means so much, as this is the first novel-length work I've ever finished. 
> 
> If you're sad that Emperor is over, you should know that I can never really leave well enough alone and will be writing in this universe again.
> 
> But in the meantime: Thank you.


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